Lessons Learned
by LittleBluestem
Summary: In this story, our boys each do what they do best: Hannibal Heyes plays a mean game of poker and devises a "foolproof" Hannibal Heyes Plan. Kid Curry shows off his trademark fast draw and rescues a damsel in distress - and then she rescues him right back. Warning to Heyes fans: The Kid gets a bigger part than Heyes in this one to make up for the story that Heyes hijacked...
1. Chapter 1 - A Right Friendly Town

_Okay, so here's what happened: The Kid was a bit miffed that Heyes hijacked "his" story the last time I tried writing one (i.e. "Fall From Grace"). He has been nagging me to write a story just for him to make up for it. And since his partner had more than his fair share of feminine company in said hijacked story, Kid has suggested that there might possibly be a pretty little damsel in distress in his story as well, 'cuz he kinda likes coming to their rescue. So here goes…._

Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry had ridden into Bridgerton, Colorado on a sunny Monday afternoon in late August. After a week in the saddle, they'd intended to soak off the trail dust in a nice hot bath, indulge in a couple of barber shaves, treat themselves to nice juicy steaks with all the trimmings, sink a couple of beers, play a little poker, sleep one night in a real bed, then re-supply and move along on Tuesday. But here it was Thursday and they'd checked off every item on the to-do list save for the last. And now it seemed they would be sticking around in Bridgerton for a while longer. As Kid had remarked the first day, it was a "right friendly town." The townfolk were welcoming, but not overly curious about the two strangers. So far, they'd never crossed paths with the sheriff (coincidentally named Smith!), and he didn't seem the suspicious type, either. Prices in the hotel, mercantile, and cafe were reasonable. And ever since they'd first bellied up to the green baize poker table in the local saloon, they'd heard lots of talk about The Big Game on Saturday night. The buy-in wasn't cheap: $1000. But the payout could be ten times that. After playing against the locals for three days running, Heyes was convinced that not only could he raise the rest of the necessary funds by Saturday, he could walk away with most if not all of the pot that night. _Then_ they'd finish up that list by moving on.

So here it was Thursday evening and the partners were once again in the midst of a friendly game with a few local fellows they'd gotten to know: Seth, the greengrocer, who was blessed with a great poker face, but who also had a tendency towards making poor decisions when it counted. Nevertheless, Seth remained cheerfully optimistic that he would prevail in the next game. Or maybe the next one after that... William, the blacksmith, was a conservative player. His towering stature and bulging biceps contrasted markedly with his gentle nature. Heyes and Curry counted it as a point in Bridgerton's favor that not a single soul kicked up a fuss when William, who happened to have skin the color of mahogany, drank beer and played poker right alongside the lighter-skinned citizenry. Jake was the youngster of the group, a gangly youth of 18 or 19 years. He had mentioned once that he was the Mayor's oldest boy, but he didn't seem to expect any special treatment. He was only home for a few more weeks before he and his younger brother Will would return to school in Denver. The last player at the table was Howie, the middle-aged barber who had shaved the boys their first day in town. A garrulous and friendly gentleman, he had told his clients about the Big Game, along with all the gossip of Bridgerton, the most exciting item apparently being the imminent arrival of an actual college-educated schoolteacher "all the way from Illinois" (pronounced as though it ended in "noise") who would soon be teaching at the newly built Bridgerton schoolhouse – the one-room variety, but it was a beginning, Howie insisted. Howie had also invited the newcomers to join him and his friends that evening for some five card draw, and they'd been coming back for a friendly game - or two, or three -every night since.

Truth be told, the Kid was getting a little bored of poker, but Heyes was in his glory – winning just enough to increase his stake without drawing undue attention or skinning the competition. Curry tossed in a particularly poor hand and glanced around the saloon, considering getting another drink. It was pretty much his only option. He'd already complained to his partner that Bridgerton might have been friendly and welcoming, but it was missing what in his opinion was one of the crucial requirements of an ideal community: Saloon girls! Bridgerton boasted only this one drinking establishment, the not very imaginatively named Bridgerton Saloon, which employed but one bartender, the decidedly NOT female Sal, not to mention the also-not-female elderly fellow who mopped up after closing. It seems the Founding Fathers of Bridgerton had made the decision early on that their little piece of the West was not going to be Wild. Any soiled doves that happened to alight in Bridgerton soon moved along for lack of job opportunities. "They won't be able to keep 'em out forever," Heyes had pronounced. But that didn't help the Kid now. At least there were a couple pretty gals who worked in the café, teenaged daughters of the matronly proprietor, whom he could flirt with and at least receive a tiny portion of feminine attention in return - along with extremely delicious viddles. He especially liked the way the younger one's cheeks would pink up when he paid her even the most innocent of compliments.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Fly in the Ointment

Kid's reverie was interrupted by the entry of a stranger pushing his way through the batwing doors. He knew instantly the man wasn't a local because all the regulars stopped what they were doing to look over at him. Several called welcoming greetings. That wasn't something you saw every day, a happenstance that once again underscored the unusual friendliness of Bridgerton. Curry sized up the newcomer as he strode to the bar and ordered a whiskey, his gait indicating he spent considerable time on horseback. His clothes were dusty from the trail, but no different from any other saddle bum's attire. A drifter like us, Kid thought to himself, yet there was something about him that didn't set right. First, there was the way his dark eyes, creased with deep lines earned by long days in the sun, darted about the saloon furtively. Second, there was his low-slung, tied-down gun and the very well-kept pearl-handled Colt Peacemaker that protruded from the holster. A shootist himself, Curry recognized another. He had long ago learned to trust his gut, which was currently telling him that the newcomer was trouble.

Freshly poured whiskey in hand, the stranger approached their table. "Howdy fella," said Howie. "We'd love to invite ya to join us, but I'm afraid we're full up."

"That's okay," Curry spoke up. "I was gettin' tired of playin' and anyway, my luck's run out on me tonight. Think I'll just watch a spell. You can take my place," he said to the stranger, rising from his chair. He noticed the dark glance rove southward to his own, also immaculately tended, Colt 45, then back up to his face, openly assessing him.

"Name's Reed," the stranger rasped. "Frank Reed."

Introductions were made all around and soon Reed was settling himself into Curry's recently vacated chair and throwing his ante into the pile of bills and coins on the table.

Kid's eyes met Heyes', the partners' silently communicating with an almost imperceptible nod. Curry knew that Heyes also knew that Reed was a man to watch, but the rest of the players seemed oblivious to his aura of menace. And Curry also knew that Heyes knew his partner would be watching his back, as they always did for each other. Curry strode over to the bar, ordered another beer, then turned to lean his back against the counter, elbows resting on either side, one booted heel hooked over the rail as he observed the poker game.

It was clear after an hour or so of play that something fishy was going on. The pile in front of Reed was getting larger and larger while Heyes's reserves were steadily diminishing. Curry caught his partner's eye. Heyes told him in a mere glance that he had figured out Reed was cheating and was about to call attention to it. Kid drained the last of his beer, wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and pushed off the bar. He sauntered over to the table casually, as if he were merely interested in watching the game.

"I raise you fifty," Reed barked.

"Oh, that's too much for me," Howie said good-naturedly. "'Fraid I'm gonna have ta fold." He tossed his cards face down on the table.

One by one the others folded as well, until only Heyes remained.

He swept all his holdings save for a few coins into the center of the table, his eyes on Reed. "I see your fifty. And I call."

Reed smiled an ugly smile. He placed his hand on the table revealing a Full House, three Queens and two Nines. Even before Heyes showed his cards, Reed was reaching for the pot.

"Now hold on a minute," Heyes said affably. "Doncha wanna see what I've got? I think you'll find it real interesting."

Reed froze in mid-reach. His eyes shifted around the table, taking in Howie's open, smiling face, Jake's frown, and the curiosity in Seth's eyes. William was leaning back in his chair, massive arms folded across his broad chest, waiting to see what would happen next. Finally, he met his opponent's gaze. Heyes was looking him right in the eye, a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. Reed glanced up to Heyes' left shoulder. There was the man whose place he'd taken. The man he'd pegged for a fellow gunslinger. He stood with legs slightly apart, arms folded across his chest. Even in the dim lighting, his Colt gleamed against his thigh. He could almost feel the blue eyes drilling into his own.

"Go ahead, Joshua," Curry prompted. "I think _everyone_ will find it real interesting."

Heyes laid down his hand with a flourish. Two Pair: two Aces and…..two Queens! He continued to stare at Reed, still smiling dangerously.

No one at the table said a word as they looked at the two poker hands laid out side-by-side on the scarred wooden surface and the two players staring each other down. William sat forward in his chair, unfolding his arms. Jake, who'd been taking a sip of his beer, coughed as it went down the wrong way. The smile faded slowly from Howie's face and he drew his eyebrows together, frowning, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Seth's mouth gaped open.

Curry was the first to break the silence.

"Now I ain't no expert or anything, so you folks correct me if I'm wrong here, but I am pretty sure there should only be _four_ Queens in a deck," he remarked with false innocence.

Everyone at the table was staring at Reed now.

"Now hold on! What makes you think I put that in there! He dealt this hand. Who's to say HE didn't add the extra lady?" Reed demanded, jerking a thumb towards Heyes.

"Let's just stop and think about this for a minute," Heyes suggested reasonably. "If I really were cheating, would it make any sense for me to deal _you_ the winning hand?"

"He's gotta point," Howie agreed cheerfully, not seeming to grasp the severity of what was happening.

Seth shot Howie a warning look as both Jake and William scooted their chairs back from the table cautiously.

Reed narrowed his already squinty eyes at the Kid and growled around the stub of his cigar, "You gonna stand there and accuse me of cheatin' or are you gonna back it up?" He shoved his chair away from the table and rose dramatically to his feet. Seth and Howie pushed their chairs back too. The entire barroom hushed as the other patrons became aware of the unfolding situation.

"Well, I don't wanna shoot ya," Curry answered blandly, arms still folded across his chest.

"I've shot men for less," Reed said menacingly.

Curry's voice remained calmly reasonable, but his clear blue eyes never left Reed's as he unfolded his arms and hooked both thumbs in his belt, saying, "Seems to me shootin' a man is a somewhat harsh punishment for an extra queen. What say you just clear on outta here?"

As it always seemed to happen, it was over almost before it started. Reed reached, but even before he could clear leather, Kid Curry's gun leapt into his hand. Several patrons in the bar gasped in amazement. Jake let out a low whistle. Reed froze, fingers still grasping the pearl handle of his pistol, which had never left its holster, his face a mask of fear. But when it became apparent his opponent didn't seem inclined to pull the trigger, he swiftly regained his composure.

"I ain't playin' with you no more," Reed scoffed, as if it were he who had made the decision, not the other way around. He turned back to the table and began to scoop up the pile of bills and coins in front of his seat.

Heyes's hand shot out and grasped one of Reed's wrists, as he protested, "Now hold on a minute there. You've been cheating all night long – why should we let you take our money with ya?" Reed stared at him furiously but impotently, well aware that the Kid was still holding his gun steadily pointed at his chest.

Heyes looked around at the other players, then back to Reed. Releasing his hold on the man's wrist, he said, "Tell ya what. How about you take what you brought to the table and we'll call it square?"

"I think that's more than fair," Curry agreed. "And it's more than what I woulda suggested," he added in a tone that clearly allowed no room for argument.

Reed hastily pocketed a small portion of what he'd been about to take, then stomped out of the saloon.

Heyes pushed the rest of the pile from Reed's place into the center of the table and said cheerfully, "Now, how's about we put all this money in the Kitty and see if we can't earn some of it back?"

The rest of the players readily agreed, and the saloon patrons exhaled the collective breath they'd been holding. Murmurs about the incredibly fast draw they had just witnessed rippled through the establishment.

Dark brown eyes met blue, a mixture of relief and pride in the former.

"Thanks," Heyes said simply.

Curry shrugged nonchalantly, then asked with a slightly lopsided grin, "Think you can stay out of trouble long enough for me to go get a refill?"

Heyes grinned at his partner and began to shuffle the deck.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Proposition

Kid sensed the two men, one on either side of him, before he actually saw them in his peripheral vision. The fellow on his right sported a shiny silver star, the sight of which gave him the usual sinking feeling. He and Heyes had seen the sheriff around town a few times, but hadn't had the pleasure of his acquaintance. And they had hoped to keep it that way. The suit-clad man on his left had been pointed out to him earlier by Jake as his father, the mayor. Of course they just happened to be in the bar when he'd confronted Reed, Kid thought ruefully. Isn't that the way it always went? Maybe this friendly little town ain't gonna stay so friendly after all. But both men were smiling and obviously eager to talk to him.

The sheriff spoke first.

"That was some fast draw, mister. I never seen the like. It'd be a real privilege to shake your hand."

Kid reached over and grasped the extended hand, saying, "Thank you, sir. Thaddeus Jones." There didn't seem to be any point in pretending the lightning-quick draw had been some kind of a fluke.

"I know," answered the sheriff, reminding Kid of just how small and tight-knit this little town was. "And your partner's Joshua Smith – same last name as me. I'm Mike Smith," he added.

"Sheriff Smith," replied Curry, nodding, although he and Heyes had ascertained his name soon after their arrival and had even shared a little laugh about "Lots of folks named Smith and Jones in this world."

"And this is my good friend Wade Thomas. - Er, I should say MAYOR Wade Thomas." Kid turned to shake the other hand.

"Newly elected mayor," amended Thomas modestly. "I'm not used to it yet, either. I believe you know my son, Jake."

"Yes sir, Mr. Thomas," answered the Kid, "Pleasure to meetcha. Ya got a real nice little town here. Lotsa friendly folks."

"And we wanna keep it that way," said Smith. "I had my eye on that fella as soon as he rode in. Gave me a bad feeling. Stuck to him like a tick on a hound. I sure wanna thank you for takin' care of him so neatly. Don't think he'll show his face in here again."

"Hope not," answered the Kid. "Looked to me like the type who might carry a grudge."

"I followed him out the door and 'suggested' he light out first thing in the morning - unless he wants to see the inside of our brand new jail cell. I doubt he'll be back," Smith said confidently.

"So Thaddeus – may I call you Thaddeus?" At Curry's nod the mayor continued,

"How long are you and your partner planning to stay in Bridgerton?"

"Well, we were just passin' through, but now my partner wants to stick around for the big game Saturday."

"What about you? The boys say you're not a bad poker player yourself. Ain't you gonna play, too?" asked the sheriff.

"Oh, I ain't too bad, but Joshua's much better'n me. And that buy-in's pretty steep. We figure we'd pool our resources and he'd play for the both of us."

"Wise decision, but how'd you like to make a few dollars yourself?" inquired Mayor Thomas.

Kid's face clouded over. "I don't hire out my gun," he stated firmly.

"No, no, it's not like that at all," Thomas answered hastily.

"Ya see, we got a job for ya," said the sheriff.

"I'm listenin'."

"You may have heard, Bridgerton is getting us a school teacher," Smith began.

"Yeah, I've heard it mentioned. Several times as a matter of fact," Curry smiled. It seemed everyone in town had been talking about the new school and its soon-to-arrive college-educated teacher from Back East.

"Folks here are real excited about it. It's a - well, it's a milestone I reckon," Thomas explained.

"My Sally just turned eight. She's gonna be one of the pupils. She's countin' down the days 'til school starts," Smith stated proudly. "Little Mikey can't wait 'til next year when he'll be old enough to attend as well."

"I envy you, Mike," said Thomas. "I had to send Jake and Will away to school. You'll get to keep your younguns close at hand."

"So I'm guessin' the job ain't gonna be teachin' school," joked Kid, attempting to get them back on topic.

That brought a spate of laughter from Kid's new companions, but soon the sheriff got to the point and explained his proposition, "So anyway, this school teacher we hired – college educated, by the way – this school teacher is coming from Back East – all the way from Illinois. But the closest she can get here by train is Red Hill. After that it's still a four day stage coach ride. What we need is someone like you – that is to say, someone who can handle himself – to see her safely from Red Hill to Bridgerton."

"You expectin' trouble?"

"Oh, no, nothin' specific-like," insisted Smith. "There ain't no Indians or nothin'. But ya see this schoolteacher is a gal, a young gal. That's a long way for a young lady to travel all alone and her not knowin' the country and all. At the very least you can tote her luggage for her and make sure she gets on the right coach. But ya never know, there could be trouble – bad weather, or highwaymen, or maybe some young buck who smells green grass and thinks he can take advantage."

"How much?"

"500 dollars plus expenses. Meals, hotels. Stage tickets. Like that."

"When's the train get to Denver?"

"Saturday 9 am."

"I'll have to leave tomorrow to get there in time – and even then, I'll have to cut cross-country, sleep rough…" Kid was thinking out loud.

"Yeah, and it'll take you twice as long on the way back. Ya haveta switch coaches in Granite Bluff. But that's why the pay's so good. Whaddaya say, Jones?"

"Just have one question. Why'd ya wait so long? I mean, what are ya gonna do if I say no?"

"It does seem very last minute," replied the mayor, "but up until this morning it was all set. The School Board president, Blake Johnson, has a nice little spread just outside of town. One of his hands was planning to do it –"

" 'til he went and busted up his ribs this mornin' gettin' throwed offa bronc," interrupted the sheriff. "Now Blake is short-handed and he sure can't spare anyone else."

"My Jake offered to go in his place," the mayor said, "but the wife put her foot down and frankly, I was relieved she did. I wasn't comfortable with the idea. He may look grown, but he's still just a kid."

"Up 'til we spotted you tonight, I was gonna go myself," Smith said. "But I sure hate to leave my Deputy in charge for such a long time. He's got the makings of a good lawman, but he's still young and inexperienced. Mr. Jones, if you do this job, you'll save me a wagonload of aggravation."

"Sure. I'll have to discuss it with my partner of course, but if he don't have any objections, I'll do it," Curry agreed, thinking it would give him something to occupy himself and it would be no small potatoes to be able to add $500 to whatever Heyes managed to win in the upcoming poker game.

"Let's drink to the deal!" exclaimed Thomas.


	4. Chapter 4 - Collecting the Cargo

Two days later, Kid Curry was lounging on a wooden bench across the road from the train depot in Red Hill. He'd arrived in town the night before and, thanks to the Bridgerton School Board, was well rested and comfortably full of pancakes and bacon, two tickets for the stage coach ride to Bridgerton tucked into his breast pocket. The train was due into the station in 30 minutes, so the Kid took the opportunity to tip his hat over his face and doze until he heard the whistle in the distance. As he rose from the bench and stretched his back, the train chugged into the station amid a cloud of steam. A flurry of folks thronged about, some ready to greet the passengers as they disembarked, and others waiting to board the train for its return trip to Denver. Curry scanned the crowd and quickly spotted his charge. Although there were several young ladies around the correct age, there was only one that was traveling solo. She was not completely alone, however. A porter was pushing a cart piled with trunks and valises and the young woman was stepping along behind him, practically running to keep up with the porter's long strides. She was looking all around with curiosity and excitement on a face that Kid immediately decided was a shame to waste on a schoolmarm. She was quite diminutive, reminding him of his and Heyes' good friend Clementine. Like Clem, Amanda Grady had a perfect yet petite figure. Kid reckoned he could span her tiny waist with his two hands. Unlike Clem, however, Miss Grady seemed oblivious to the effect she had on men, many of whom were doing double-takes or simply staring overtly at her.

Curry rose from the bench and headed in her direction, reaching her just as the porter pulled the last trunk from the cart and added it to the large pile he had assembled on the boardwalk. The girl fumbled in her purse for a coin which she placed into his hand, thanking him with a dazzling smile that the porter seemed to appreciate more than the tip.

Curry tugged at his hat and addressed her, "Howdy, Miss Grady. Name's Thaddeus Jones. The Bridgerton School Board sent me to escort ya the rest of the way to Bridgerton."

The young teacher turned, a pair of sparkling hazel eyes fringed by thick lashes looking at him curiously.

"How did you know who I am, Mr. Jones?" she asked, reaching out her gloved hand to clasp his.

"Lucky guess," the Kid answered laconically. Then he turned to survey the pile next to them.

"This all yours?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, then amended, "well, not all of it is mine personally. Most of it is books. For the school. The Board wired money for me to purchase books and other materials back in Normal to bring along with me."

Kid nodded and said, "Stage leaves at ten. I've got our tickets already." He shouldered the nearest trunk, wishing the porter had left him the use of the cart to tote the luggage over to the stage coach office. Amanda Grady, already holding a carpet bag over her arm, reached down and picked up two valises and began to struggle after him. Curry stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.

"What do you think you're doin?" he demanded.

"Helping you carry my luggage to the stage coach office, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Oh no you don't, ma'am. My ma would go spinnin' in her grave if she knew I let a lady carry anything heavier than a thimble when I was around to do it for her."

Miss Grady began to protest, but the Kid would have none of it. "You sit right there," he instructed, pointing to the nearest bench. "It'll take me three trips and then we'll have just enough time to grab a bite before we board the stage."

"If I help you, it will only take two trips," she insisted.

"Sit," he commanded.

The Kid had already eaten breakfast and Miss Grady said she wasn't hungry, but Curry suspected the young schoolteacher was trying to conserve her limited funds.

"On me," he offered, then amended, "well, actually on Bridgerton. They gave me money for meals and tickets and what have you. It'll be a long ride 'til we stop for dinner."

The young woman brightened and replied, "Oh, I suppose I could manage to eat a little something."

Curry ordered two coffees and a breakfast special – steak, eggs, biscuits, and stewed tomatoes. Miss Grady dug in hungrily, but lost steam when she was about halfway done. Kid gallantly offered to finish the meal for her and she pushed her plate across the table.

As he chewed, she examined the wildflowers in the cut-glass vase at the center of the table. "We don't have these back home. What are they?" she asked.

"Columbine," her dining companion replied around a mouthful of steak.

Amanda pulled a small sketch book and a charcoal pencil from her carpet bag and with deft strokes began to sketch one of the blue and lavender flowers. She used what looked to the Kid like colored chalk to shade in the soft pastel colors. He watched her work in fascination.

"Hey, that's real good. What else can ya draw? … People?" he ventured cautiously. To his relief she replied, "Just flowers and insects mostly. I'm no good at faces."

The ticketed passengers were milling about in front of the stage coach office as the driver strapped the luggage to the back and roof of the vehicle. Most of it was the schoolteacher's and she looked stricken that he was going to so much trouble on her account. Her escort, Mr. Jones, assisted by handing items up to him.

As Curry helped the driver load, he surreptitiously examined the other passengers. There was an elderly lady with a pruney face whose expression looked to Kid like she'd been sucking on lemons. She was dressed all in black, in the latest of fashions from about 20 years previously. She seemed to be traveling with the middle-aged man in a suit and derby hat. Her son, Kid inferred, comparing the sharply aquiline noses both sported and noting the deferential way he spoke to her. Mama's Boy, he thought with a slight smirk. There was also an older, distinguished-looking gentleman holding the hand of a little boy about 7 years of age, who was wearing short pants and constantly asking questions: "Grandpop, what's that? Grandpop, why is…? Grandpop, how come…?" 'Grandpop' was patiently answering each question, clearly fond of the little tyke. The final passenger was a drummer – a traveling salesman. Kid could tell by his cheap suit, his large sample case, and his broad, phony smile. Just a legal way to con folks, he had opined to Heyes more than once. Not that he was opposed to a good con job, but even in their heyday, he and Heyes would never have conned ordinary folks, like most drummers preyed upon. Their victims were always rich and crooked themselves. This fellow was young, about his own age, and Curry took an immediate dislike to him.

Once the driver was satisfied that his load was secure, he hopped down to the street and surveyed the group of waiting passengers. "Stage is built for six," he pronounced. "Someone's gotta ride up top with me." He glanced at the Kid, the obvious candidate, with eyebrows raised in a question.

"Oh, can I?" gasped the schoolteacher, surprising everyone present and apparently giving the old lady quite a shock.

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. The grandfather looked amused and the coach driver chuckled.

"I'll be riding up top," Curry said firmly. "That way I can keep a look out for trouble."

Miss Grady looked embarrassed at the reactions to her impulsive offer. She really would have been thrilled to ride on top, wind blowing through her hair, the blue sky above, but she now inferred by the others' responses that this was something a proper lady just didn't do.


	5. Chapter 5 - A Bumpy Ride

The Kid sat atop the stage as it bumped along the rutted road, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun on his shoulders. He had already shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket, tucking it behind him with the heap of luggage. His horse trotted along after the stage, her reins tied to the back. The driver, Deke Stone, was a wiry man in his seventies with white whiskers that seemed to sprout randomly from portions of his chin, and a few from his ears for good measure. Even though it wasn't the most luxurious of conveyances, Kid was enjoying the ride and the view of the rolling foothills dotted with pine and aspen, the snow-capped mountains in the distance, and the blue, blue sky overhead. The air was crisp, but the sun was warm and at least for now it seemed that all was right with the world. He could forget all about amnesty and posses for a little while and just enjoy being alive on this beautiful late summer morning. Neither he nor the driver were especially talkative, but there was an ease between them. Miss Grady was safe inside the coach under the supervision of Mrs. Batenhorst. This was gonna be an easy 500 bucks, Kid thought. He smiled to himself, remembering how the exuberant young lady had asked to sit on top with the driver. He could picture her perched up here, wind streaming through her hair, looking around eagerly at the ruggedly beautiful scenery with those alluring hazel eyes. He couldn't help feel a little sorry that society's dictates prevented her from doing the things he, as a man, took for granted.

Curry was jolted from his train of thought quite literally when the coach lurched over a particularly deep rut.

"Sorry, son. Rough road ahead," apologized Stone.

The coach was traveling on a downhill incline, the road deeply rutted by erosion. Deke pulled steadily on the wooden handbrake, slowing the team of four horses as they picked their way along, the coach jostling back and forth sideways. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Curry's attention. He looked down to his right and met the same hazel eyes he'd just been thinking about. Amanda Grady's head and shoulders were sticking out of the window. "What's going on?" she called over the noise of pounding hoofs. One hand held her hat firmly in place, a few loose curls whipping around her face.

"Miss Grady! Get back in here this instant!" Mrs. Batenhorst's muffled voice was heard from within the vehicle.

"Just a bumpy road, Ma'am!" shouted Curry. "Nothin' to worry about." He smiled at her reassuringly. "Best get back inside, though," he advised.

Amanda grinned at him and disappeared from view.

The coach had now reached the bottom of the hill and was proceeding up the next incline. Deke let up on the brakes and urged the horses onward. Their speed increased along with the roughness of the ride.

Amanda's head popped out again. "Mrs. Batenhorst has requested that you kindly slow down!" she hollered.

Deke ignored her. Curry grinned and winked.

Just then one wheel of the stage coach hit a rock – hard – so hard that Deke and the Kid were fully airborne for a moment. Curry slammed down onto the seat, his whole body jarred from the landing. Deke wasn't so lucky. Before he knew what was happening, Deke had plunged off the coach to lie tangled in the traces between the last pair of horses, taking the reins with him. "Damn it!" yelled the Kid, grabbing for the reins. Just when his fingers were about to close over them, they crested the top of the hill and careered into another deep rut and Curry was thrown off-balance. He grabbed hold of the seat back and the reins fell further out of reach. Deke looked up at Curry with panic in his eyes. He clawed at one of the horses, trying to grasp a handful of mane. This action apparently spooked the already agitated animal, whose whinny sounded like a shriek.

Meanwhile, Amanda had fallen back into the coach on impact, landing on top of the salesman, who either instinctively or opportunistically wrapped his arms around the girl and held on tight. "Oof! Let me go!" she cried, squirming out of his reach and clambering back to the window. The coach was flying along pell-mell, clearly out of control. When she emerged from the coach window again and looked up at the driver's bench, no one was there. Both the driver and Mr. Jones must have been thrown off, she thought in a panic. Somone had to get out there and stop the horses! As she tried to pull herself farther out the opening, a mighty swerve slammed her back onto the floor. She caught her breath and looked up at the other passengers. Mrs. Batenhorst was clutching her son, eyes squeezed shut, reciting what sounded like prayers. Mr. Batenhorst was clutching right back, his face frozen in fear. Mr. Trent remained calm but concerned, holding his wide-eyed grandson tightly, reassuring him that everything would be okay. Mr. Nielsen was pressed against the corner of the box seat, looking stunned. It was up to her, she thought determinedly, and began to climb out of the window once again. But this time she saw Mr. Jones. Somehow he had released his own horse from the rear of the stage and was riding it, racing alongside them as they barreled along. She clung to the edge of the window and watched tensely as he overtook the lead horse, then leaned from his saddle and grabbed hold of its bridle with one hand, hollering "Whoa!" The horses didn't stop right away, but they began to slow. The bumping and swaying diminished gradually, until the stagecoach at last came to a halt. Amanda breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly, Mr. Stone's head popped up from between the last pair of horses. He looked shaken, but was yelling jubilantly, "Ya did it! Ya did it! That was sure some fancy ridin', young fella!"

Jones dismounted without letting go of the lead horse's bridle. He was breathing heavily and stroking the animal's neck. He didn't let go until he was sure they were staying put.

"You alright?" he asked the driver.

"I am now," Deke chortled. "Still stuck, though. Come over here and land me a hand, son."

"That was quite a ride, Sir," said Curry as he assisted the old man. "Hope the passengers are okay." He glance over to meet Amanda's eyes, his eyebrows slightly raised in a question. "Everyone okay in there?" She smiled one of those dazzling smiles and answered, "A bit shaken up, but all in one piece, thanks to you!"

"Speak for yourself, young lady," came the disembodied voice of Mrs. Batenhorst. "And get back in here this instant!"

By now the Kid had untangled the driver. He was a bit bruised but no worse for wear. Spryly he pulled open the stage coach door and addressed the passengers, "Everyone okay in there?" When he had been assured all was well, he delivered welcome news. "We're just two miles from the station, folks. We'll stop and have a meal, letcha recover from that rough ride."


	6. Chapter 6 - Catching Their Breaths

During the noon meal, Deke regaled everyone at the way station with a colorful story of the runaway team of horses and the heroic rescue by Thaddeus Jones. "How'd ya get onto your horse, anyway?" he asked.

"Well, I climbed to the back and cut her loose. Then I just had to call her close enough to jump on. She's sure a good horse," he added, as if to attribute the daring deed to his mare, rather than take full credit.

No one could argue with that.

When the station agent's wife, Mrs. Horton, served up dinner, they all dug in, helping themselves to creamed corn, buttery mashed potatoes, fried chicken, and fresh tomatoes.

"Would you like another helping, Mr. Jones? You certainly must have worked up an appetite," she asked, smiling at him admiringly as she brought the platter of chicken over.

"Don't mind if I do," answered the hero of the hour.

When all had their fill, Deke announced they were slightly ahead of schedule and that they had roughly thirty minutes to kill before departing.

Curry watched Amanda Grady wander out to the veranda with her sketchbook and settle in on the steps. Mr. Trent took the opportunity to encourage Timmy to run around in the grassy yard. Nielsen had retired to the back porch with one of the livery men to have a smoke. Kid decided to stretch his legs a bit.

Not ten minutes later, Curry was lounging against the corral fence feeling pleasantly full when Mrs. Batenhorst hurried up to him, out of breath and red in the face. "Mr. Jones, Mr. Jones," she called imperiously. "That young traveling man has just persuaded Miss Grady to walk down to those trees over yonder with him so he can show her some exotic flower or somesuch."

Kid looked up sharply to see the two figures disappearing into the treeline down the hill from the way station. "Thanks, Mrs. Batenhorst. I'll handle it," he said as he took off after the couple in an easy lope, inwardly kicking himself for not keeping a closer eye on his charge.

"That foolish girl simply has no idea…" he heard the old lady lecturing no one in particular as he departed.

Kid stepped into the shade of the trees, following the sound of voices.

"How much farther, Mr. Nielsen?" asked Amanda innocently.

"Oh just a little bit more," he answered. Curry narrowed his eyes as Nielsen hastily added, "but it's so worth the walk. This is a rare and beautiful flower that I'm sure you've never seen before."

Nielsen busily scanned the forest floor. "There, right there!" he called out in triumph, pointing into a small clearing.

As the girl approached the supposedly rare flower, the young salesman leered at her. He reached out his hand to take hers. "It's rough going Miss Grady. Here, let me help you. Or may I call you…Amanda?"

Curry stepped into the open, his right hand hanging loosely next to his Colt.

"Miss Grady," he announced. "Time to board."

"Oh, already?" she asked, turning to face him.

She couldn't see Nielsen scowling behind her at the unwelcome interruption, his hand still held out toward her.

"Deke said half an hour," he said with a little whine in his voice.

The Kid gave him his iciest gun-fighter stare.

"I said it's time for Miss Grady to get back," he stated firmly, resting his hand on the butt of his gun, his tone deadly serious.

"But there's a rare flower that only grows here that Mr. Nielsen is going to show me," she explained, apparently oblivious to the drummer's ulterior motives.

"That's columbine, Ma'am," Curry said. "Remember, you already saw it in Red Hill. It grows all over Colorado. Mr. Nielsen, you are obviously not an expert on plants. Maybe you should stick to your own business," he added significantly. "What was it again, pots and pans...?"

Curry held out his arm and Amanda took it, looking up into his face, but he was still glaring at the salesman. She wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but she had sensed the almost palpable tension between the two men. The trio walked back to the station yard, Nielsen torn between disappointment that he missed his chance to make time with the pretty young lady and relief that her formidable bodyguard didn't shoot him.

As they approached the cluster of buildings, they saw that Deke and the two livery men were harnessing the fresh team of horses. The passengers were beginning to gather nearby.

"Maybe someone else should take a turn up top so's I can ride inside to make sure Miss Grady's safe," Curry said pointedly, treating Nielsen to another dose of his own personal brand of glacial stare – a stare that had turned more than one man's bowels to water.

"Never you mind, Mr. Jones," commanded Mrs. Batenhorst. "You can climb right back up there and keep an eye out for trouble. I consider it my self-appointed Christian duty to protect Miss Grady's innocence. And while I'm in this coach with her, I am honor-bound to teach her some important deportment lessons that every lady should know. Not only for her own good, but to protect her future students from a corrupting influence. Young lady, I don't know what they taught you at that college, but it certainly wasn't decorum."

Amanda looked dismayed at the prospect of deportment lessons. Without much hope for deliverance, she nonetheless pleaded, "Can I please ride on top?"

"NO!" came the answer simultaneously from the Kid, Mrs. Batenhorst, Deke, and even Mr. Nielsen, who apparently did not relish the thought of sharing the interior of the coach with Mr. Jones.


	7. Chapter 7 - Deportment Lessons

For the past several hours, Mrs. Batenhorst – or Mrs. Battle-axe as Amanda was now referring to her silently – had been lecturing the young woman as to the dos and don'ts that she deemed separated a lady from a guttersnipe. Amanda had started out listening politely, nodding, agreeing, even smiling occasionally. But now she was simply enduring the assault on her eardrums. "You must never run in public. Actually, you must never run in private either. The only acceptable time for a lady to run is to escape a fire."

"What about a wild animal chasing her?" piped up a small voice. "Like a bear?"

"Best stay out of it, Timmy," cautioned Mr. Trent with a chuckle in his voice.

"No self-respecting lady would ever be chased by a wild animal," pronounced Mrs. Batenhorst dismissively. "Now, I noticed when you were boarding the stagecoach, you clambered in without waiting for Mr. Jones to help you. In the process, you lifted your skirts so high I daresay your ankles were visible. That's something a lady must never do. And when the horse team ran wild, the manner in which you thrust your head out the window was simply scandalous. Are you listening, Miss Grady?"

The tow-headed young boy sitting solemnly next to his grandfather on the opposite seat could take this no longer.

"Sheesh, Miss Grady. How are you gonna remember all the things a lady can't do?" he asked earnestly.

"That's easy," she answered conspiratorially. "If it's something that might be in the least bit fun, then it isn't allowed."

This sent everyone but Mrs. Batenhorst into gales of mirthful laughter. The other passengers in the coach had grown weary of her "lessons." They ignored her stern look, and the little boy addressed Amanda seriously,

"Miss Grady, I wish you were my teacher. Mr. Raferton is mean as a snake. He hollers at us all the time and he hits us with a switch. I bet you never hit your pupils."

"I should say not! I mean, it isn't my place to criticize a colleague, but for myself, I find I get better results with smiles than switches."

"Oh Lord save us. On top of everything else, she's a progressive," muttered Mrs. Batenhorst, rolling her eyes.

"Can you teach me something?" asked Timmy, clearly enamored.

"Of course I will," she agreed, smiling. "Let's see… How about a poem? Do you want to learn a poem?"

Half an hour later, Timmy was eagerly reciting "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere," complete with dramatic gestures. After another half hour he was contentedly slumbering against his grandfather's broad shoulder, a soft smile playing on his childish lips. Neilson, Mrs. Batenhorst, and her son were asleep as well, looking much less angelic than the lad. The elderly Mr. Trent sat transfixed as Amanda read aloud to him from one of her thick books, her voice melodious. Golden shafts of late afternoon sunlight filtered through the coach window, picking up coppery highlights in Amanda's hair. The miles wound past as the sun sank slowly behind the distant mountains on the western horizon.

When the stagecoach pulled into the gathering dusk of Granite Hill, Curry hopped lightly down from the top of the stage, stretched his back, then opened the door. He saw that all the passengers inside were sleeping, Amanda with the large book in her lap where it had finally dropped. He hesitated for a moment, loath to disturb her. She opened her eyes, blinking her thick lashes, then she focused on his face and smiled shyly at him. There was something touchingly intimate about seeing her waken like this. "We're here," Curry said loudly, deliberately breaking the spell. The other passengers stirred and woke one by one. Sleepily they gathered their belongings and disembarked the stage, Kid assisting the two ladies and the elderly Mr. Trent, whose limbs had become stiff from lack of movement.

"What about all the - " Amanda gestured to her trunks full of books and school supplies, still strapped to the roof.

"Deke said he'd store it overnight in the stage depot, then someone'll transfer it to the Bridgerton coach in the mornin'. They'll board my horse in their stables for the night, too." He shouldered his saddlebags and took her carpet bag from her hand. "Let's get you settled in at the hotel." He waited patiently while she bid the other passengers good bye, shaking hands of everyone but the little boy, whom she hugged warmly.

The next morning, Curry met Amanda in the hotel restaurant. She was very quiet and seemed to be focusing all her concentration on eating her breakfast and daintily sipping her coffee, pinkie finger slightly extended. She took tiny bites and set her fork down frequently. She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her cloth napkin in the most delicate fashion. Kid hid a smile as he watched her. After their meal, they walked over to the stage depot. Instead of trotting along like a puppy to keep up with him as she had done the day before, Amanda took tiny, mincing steps. She was holding her shoulders impossibly straight and her head held artificially high.

Curry stopped abruptly, spinning around to face her. Not being able to stop in time, she bumped into him, her face smashing into his chest. Her cheeks colored and she murmured, eyes downcast, "Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Jones."

Curry placed his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. "Miss Grady, what is wrong with you today?" he demanded.

Amanda studied the toes of her shoes, not answering.

Realization dawned on him. "Are you tryin' to be ladylike?" he demanded.

In a very small voice, she answered, "Mrs. Batenhorst said –"

"Miss Grady, I'm sure Mrs. Batenhorst meant well, but she must be at least a hundred years old. Some of her ideas about bein' a lady… well, let me put it this way: You're already a lady. A lady with spirit. You've got to be _yourself_."

Amanda looked up at him with a little smile on her face, "Really?" she asked hopefully.

"Well, unfortunately, you can't go ridin' on top of stagecoaches or wanderin' off alone with strange men unchaperoned, but I would bet that most of what she told you, you can forget. Just try to remember the common sense things."

"Good. I don't know how much longer I could keep up that walk! But she did provide some helpful advice. And I do need to make a favorable impression on the citizens of Bridgerton. And be a good example to my students."

They continued walking, her gait much more natural. "Just as long as you stay true to yourself," the Kid advised sagely.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Journey Continues

When they reached the stage depot, Curry was mildly disappointed to see that the luggage was not yet loaded onto the Bridgerton stage. He recognized Miss Grady's pile, along with his own saddle. Next to it were two leather suitcases. He surmised he'd be helping load again. Only one other passenger waited in the lobby, a stout, middle-aged man in an expensive-looking, conservatively cut dark suit, a gold watch chain looped from his vest, a bowler hat perched on his head. As they approached him, he pulled his watch out and consulted the time, then snapped it shut, tsking impatiently

"Howdy," Curry greeted the man. "I figure iffen we're gonna spend the next couple days together we might as well introduce ourselves. I'm Thaddeus Jones and this here's - ." Kid gestured to Miss Grady, attempting to introduce her, but was interrupted.

"Bridger. Harold Bridger. Of Bridgerton, Colorado."

"I reckon that means you must be someone important, seein' as that's the name of the town we're headin' to."

"Yes indeed, I founded the town and I own the hotel, saloon, and the bank," he pronounced self-importantly.

"I was gonna guess you were a banker," the Kid drawled lazily, slouching against Amanda's tower of trunks and bandboxes.

Bridger looked annoyed that this person of obvious low status continued to waste his time with attempted conversation. He asked in a sarcastic tone, "Oh really. How did you know?"

The young cowboy eyed him appraisingly, then replied, "Oh, I suppose the fine suit, the air of prosperity." And the smug self-satisfaction and attitude of superiority, he added silently to himself. Aloud he continued, "I kind of have a sixth sense when it comes to bankers." He smirked a little, as if enjoying a private joke with himself.

"How droll," Bridger stated, then started to turn away, continuing to ignore the young lady who was watching the exchange with measured patience, apparently trying her utmost to appear decorous and ladylike in front of the literal Founding Father of her new place of employ. Curry once again attempted introductions, saying, "Mr. Bridger, allow me to introduce you to your town's new schoolmistress, Miss Amanda Grady."

Amanda thrust a lace-mitted hand toward the portly gentleman, pleased that she had remembered to pull the ridiculous but apparently crucial accessories on after breakfast. That and her sun bonnet, which hid all but the most unruly of her auburn curls beneath its modest brim. She worried briefly if she was supposed to offer her hand first or wait for the banker to do so, but ignored the qualm. Being careful not to speak too fast, as she tended to do when she was excited or nervous, she said formally, "How do you do, Mr. Bridger? I am so looking forward to teaching the children of Bridgerton. And I want to express my sincere gratitude for sending Mr. Jones here to escort me safely from Red Hill."

Bridger peered down at her hand as if examining it for dirt, grasped it limply, and released it almost immediately. Rather than return Amanda's greeting, he said somewhat peevishly, "It wasn't my doing. I was against it. A waste of money, in my opinion." Again he moved as if to turn away.

Once more Curry spoke before the other man could disengage, "But Mr. Bridger, you couldn't very well have expected a young, unmarried lady to travel unaccompanied all the way from Red Hill to Bridgerton?"

Bridger responded with alacrity, as if the young lady being discussed was not standing right next to him, "If the School Board had listened to my advice, we would have hired a school _master_ , not a mistress. Such a person would have been perfectly capable of getting himself to his new place of employment without assistance. Therefore, the town of Bridgerton would not have had to throw away hard-earned cash on the services of a saddle tramp." He paused, examining the younger man's face for the effect of his words. Although he was met with Curry's practiced poker face, he thought he detected a subtle change in the man's stance, a slight coldness in the blue eyes. The banker prided himself on his ability to read people. Sneering slightly, and again dripping sarcasm, he asked facetiously, "Oh, have I offended you, Mr. Jones? It seems I too have a sixth sense, at least when it comes to sniffing out saddle tramps." At the word "sniffing," Bridger's nostrils twitched insultingly above the clipped mustache, as if he were smelling something unpleasant.

Curry didn't rise to the obvious bait. A slightly crooked smile graced his handsome features, but his eyes remained cold. Again with the lazy cowboy drawl, he parried, "I guess that depends on what you mean by a saddle tramp, Mr. Bridger. Iffen you mean a fella who travels from town to town, tryin' out different jobs, meetin' new people, and seein' as much of this big, beautiful country as possible, then I guess that's me. And not ashamed of it."

Miss Grady, ever a crusader against bullies of all ages, felt the need to defend her escort from the snobbery of the supercilious banker. Trying to keep her voice modulated, she interjected, "Mr. Bridger, just yesterday Mr. Jones single-handedly stopped a runaway team of horses, thereby saving everyone on the stagecoach from injury and possibly death."

Bridger completely ignored her comment - if he'd even heard it. He stared at the young woman rudely while she spoke, then snapped, "If the School Board insisted on hiring a female, the least they could have done was find a more mature one. Just how old are you, young lady?"

Despite the abruptness of the questioner and the personal nature of the question, along with the vague recollection that one of the many things Mrs. Battleaxe had drilled into her was that a lady never tells her age, Amanda drew herself up to her full 5 feet 1 inch, squared her shoulders and answered confidently, "I am 25 years of age and have been teaching school for four years. I am a graduate of the Illinois State Normal University. I bring both my experience and advanced training to the children of Bridgerton."

"Hmph, 25. Well, at least you're an Old Maid, even if you don't look like one," was the boorish reply.

Kid could handle being insulted himself, but it went against his nature to stand by mutely while a lady was being maligned. He straightened his posture. His words were polite yet firm, "Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Bridger, but I'm afraid I can't allow you to insult Miss Grady like that."

"Oh, have I insulted you, my dear?" Bridger inquired condescendingly.

Before Curry could respond, Amanda surprised him by echoing his earlier words, her hazel eyes flashing and her veneer of Battle-axe inspired decorum slipping a touch to reveal the spirited young woman beneath, "I supposed that depends on what you mean by "Old Maid," Mr. Bridger. Now if it means an intelligent, independent woman who doesn't need a man to forge her identify, then of course I'm not insulted." She smiled prettily.

Whatever Bridger was about to say remained unsaid, for at that moment the driver arrived. He was several decades younger than Deke Stone, but just as scrawny, with a full head of bushy black hair and a beard to match. He grinned widely, pulling at the brim of his battered Stetson and said, nodding to each passenger in turn, "Howdy folks. Mr. Bridger. Name's Shecky. If we leave in the next ten minutes, and the journey goes uneventful-like, we'll make the Way Station by dusk. We'll light out for Bridgerton at dawn tomorrow and I should have you all there in time for dinner, God willin' and the creek don't rise."

"Spare us your colorful sobriquets, Mr. Sheckerson, and get this gear onto the stagecoach," instructed Bridger, as if he were in charge of the whole operation.

"Let me give you a hand, Shecky," offered Curry, beginning to gather up pieces of luggage.

"Brock! Brock!" Bridger suddenly bellowed what sounded to the Kid like "rock" and swiveled his florid face from side to side, as if he were searching for something or someone.

"What's with him?" Curry muttered out of the side of his mouth to the driver as he helped him manhandle the heaviest trunk toward the stagecoach. "What's he want a rock for?"

"Oh, you'll get used to Bridger," the wiry coachman responded. "I brung him back and forth from Granite Bluff to Bridgerton so many times, nothin' he does surprises me no more. But he ain't sayin' 'Rock,' he's sayin 'Brock.' It's his assistant, Will Brock. Bridger drags that poor boy with him everywhere he goes and henpecks him worse that any old biddy I ever seen." He paused to mop his sweaty forehead with a faded blue bandanna and surveyed the scene. As he picked up a large carpet bag and handed it up to the Kid, now perched atop the coach, he changed the subject, "That little schoolteacher sure is a purty thing, ain't she?"

"Yep. And smart as a whip," Curry rejoined. "Them kids in Bridgerton are real lucky to get her. Wish I had a teacher like her when I was a kid. Maybe I woulda stayed in school longer."

When they had all the trunks, valises, carpetbags, and other luggage securely lashed to the back and roof of the coach, and Kid's little mare once again tied to the back, Shecky called the passengers to board. Curry offered his hand to Amanda, who took it graciously, but then clambered aboard in her usual tomboyish fashion. Curry couldn't help suppress a grin when he saw her obviously remember Mrs. Batenhorst's advice at the last minute and hastily reach down to yank her skirts over her slim ankles – but not until after he'd gotten a nice view.

Kid pulled himself in behind her and sat next to her on the bench seat. He was half-tempted to sit with the driver again and spare himself the company of the obnoxious Harold Bridger. But then who knows what insults the banker would heap upon the innocent Miss Grady without the Kid there to run interference? Just then Bridger himself thrust his head through the door and scowled at the two passengers already aboard. "Brock and I will need to sit on that side. We have work to do and we can't possibly do it riding backwards," he ordered.

Miss Grady, no doubt showing the patience of a veteran schoolteacher, smiled sunnily and moved to the backward-facing seat. The Kid sighed audibly to show his annoyance and took his time, deliberately moving slowly to the opposite bench.

"And no idle chatter or foolish prattle from you, girl. We will brook no distractions."

Curry valiantly resisted the mounting urge to flatten the pompous banker.

Amanda looked as if she was resisting an urge of her own as she settled herself across from Bridger and Brock, who pulled a sheaf of papers from the large leather satchel he toted.

"Good thing I brought a book to occupy my idle mind." She opened the thick tome she had been reading aloud to old Mr. Trent the previous day and buried her nose in it.

Curry felt a sudden impulse to start singing, a move guaranteed to annoy, but instead he folded his arms across his chest, tipped his hat over his face and dozed.


	9. Chapter 9 - A Little Excitement

The morning ride was for the most part uneventful. Thankfully, the road was much smoother and the hills gentler than the previous day's journey. Bridger and Brook toiled over their paperwork and ledgers, their low voices droning monotonously. Amanda alternately read or gazed out the window at the passing scenery. Kid alternately dozed and gazed out the other window - and often over at Amanda as she gazed out her own window. He enjoyed watching her expressions change, from delight to awe to curiosity, and so forth. At one point she spotted a half-grown moose at the edge of the forest, gangly and long-legged. This was an animal she had read about, but of course never before seen, having grown up on Illinois farmland. Thrilled at the sight, she forgot all of Mrs. Batenhort's lessons and reached over to grab Curry by the arm, urging him to look out her side. Amanda didn't even seem to notice that he had to lean his body over hers to catch a glimpse of the huge creature as they sped past it. Curry shot a glance at the men across the stage, wary of their disapproval, but they were so preoccupied with their work that they didn't notice the inappropriate physical proximity. As they passed by, the moose turned its head and seemed to look right at them, its large head looking out of proportion to its long, long legs. Amanda, her cheeks rosy and eyes sparkling, turned to him with eyes shining. "Wasn't that just wonderful? I feel privileged to have witnessed it."

"I feel privileged myself, ma'am," the Kid replied, possibly talking about more than the moose.

When the stage stopped at midday to change horses and eat some lunch, mindful of his chaperone duties, Curry didn't let the young teacher out of his sight, except of course for her visit to the outhouse. Harold Bridger dominated the mealtime conversation, mostly boasting about what a fine town Bridgerton was.

"You'll see it has all the latest amenities. The roads are covered in gravel, with boardwalks on all the major thoroughfares. The bank is equipped with the most up-to-date security measures. It is thoroughly robbery-proof," he bragged.

Curry added, "And the folks in Bridgerton are just about the friendliest people my partner and I have ever run across."

"Oh, you have a partner, Mr. Jones?" inquired Miss Grady curiously. "Is he in Bridgerton now?"

"Yeah, he stayed for the poker game. Thinks he might even have a chance at winning it."

"He wouldn't if Mr. Bridger were in town," said Brock loyally. "Isn't that right, Mr. Bridger?"

"Play a bit of poker, do you?" asked the Kid.

"I used to. I came to the conclusion that it wasn't really fair to the other players since I consistently win," replied the banker.

"That and his wife put her foot down," Brock muttered out of the side of his mouth so only Curry could hear.

Amanda's eyes were shining with excitement. "How much longer until we get there, Mr. Sheckerson?" she asked.

"By noon tomorrow, Miss," Sheckerson answered. "We'll make the halfway point at Sweetwater Station about suppertime and stay there tonight. Then we'll leave for Bridgerton at sunup."

Late in the afternoon, the occupants of the stage were roused by sharp rapping on the roof. The stage slowed and Shecky's voice called down to the passengers, "Folks, looks like trouble."

Curry was instantly alert. He levered the upper portion of his body out the window and looked ahead. There were six riders approaching rapidly. When he returned to the inside of the coach, he saw Miss Grady was doing the same thing out the other side. He took hold of her waist with both hands and hauled her back in. She gasped in surprise as Bridger demanded, "What's going on out there?" The percussive sound of hoofbeats now surrounded them.

"Looks like we're getting' robbed," Curry answered tersely. He turned to the woman next to him and explained, "Now, the smartest thing to do in a situation like this is to give 'em enough to satisfy 'em. Hide most of your money and valuables, but leave out what you might call a 'sacrificial offering.' Then yes 'em to death. And act scared – that makes 'em feel important."

"Act scared?! I _am_ scared!" breathed Amanda.

"You'll be alright. I won't let 'em hurtcha," he smiled at her reassuringly. "Now, do you have anything valuable?"

"I have thirty dollars in my purse. All the rest of my money is hidden in my – er, on my person."

"Good. That should keep 'em happy." He then addressed the banker. "Mr. Bridger, I suggest you hide your watch and your ring real good if you want to keep 'em."

Curry bent over and untied the rawhide strings securing his holster to his thigh, then proceeded to unbuckle his gunbelt.

"What are you doing?" demanded Bridger in alarm. "I thought you were hired to protect us!"

"I was hired to protect her, not you, and that's what I'm doin'."

"What do you have that fancy gun on your hip for if you don't intend to use it?"

"Mr. Bridger, there's six of them and one of me. If I try anything against them, I might get two or three, but the rest of them'll make sure I get dead. And how's that gonna protect Miss Grady? Believe me, it's better if I ain't armed. They'll just take it anyway, and I don't wanna lose it."

Kid pulled the Colt from the holster before rolling up the gunbelt and cramming it beneath the wooden bench seat behind Amada's carpet bag. He considered stuffing the weapon into the back of his trousers, hidden behind his vest, but on impulse he turned to Miss Grady and said, "Stick this in your garter. Just in case."

Miss Grady looked startled, but then gamely reached for the pistol and, being careful not to reveal anything more than a shapely ankle, secreted the weapon beneath her full skirts.

By now Shecky had pulled the coach to a complete stop. A fury of pounding hooves sounded as the highwaymen reined to a halt all around them.

"You up there! Shouted a harsh voice. Don't even think about usin' that rifle. Just toss it down nice and easy-like."

They heard the thud of the rifle landing on the ground. Amanda moved to look out the window again, but Curry pulled her back before she could. "Don't call attention to yourself," he hissed quietly. She nodded earnestly at him. Kid sat back in the seat, but watched the action outside as best he could.

"There's nothing worth stealin' on this coach. Ain't got no payroll. Hell, I ain't even got any mail," they heard Shecky say defiantly.

"What's in all them trunks?"

"Schoolbooks, I tell you. Schoolbooks for the new school in Bridgerton."

"Prove it."

After some shuffling and commotion, and a few thuds of books being tossed to the ground – accompanied by Amanda's righteous gasps - the thieves lost interest in what was on top of the coach and turned their attention to the passengers on the inside.

"Alright, you, in the coach. Come on out. This is a stick up."

The Kid climbed out first, then turned to help Miss Grady descend from the stagecoach. He immediately pushed her behind him protectively. Bridger and Brock then emerged and climbed down. All four passengers stood in the dusty road warily, sizing up their besiegers.

"Here, take my money. Just let us be on our way," Mr. Bridger ordered the gang, thrusting out his billfold.

Curry' examined the criminals surrounding them. The obvious leader was a handsome, dark-haired man mounted on the finest horse of the bunch. He had dark wavy hair and a mustache that was waxed carefully into upturned points on either side. His clothes were fairly ordinary, save for the crimson brocade vest peeking out from his black duster. He was smiling broadly, but there was no true warmth in the expression, revealing impossibly perfect, white teeth. Kid knew he was in charge not only from his horse and garb, but also because he just slouched on his horse looking on smugly, arms crossed loosely at the wrists over his pommel while the rest of the gang did the actual work.

Two outlaws sat their horses on either side of him. One was short, stocky, and dark-skinned, possibly part Mexican, judging by the fancy spurs and tooled leather saddle. The other resembled his own Grampa Curry, the map of Ireland across his face, as the old saying goes. However, he was much larger, a veritable mountain of a man. They each held a rifle pointed at the passengers.

"Skeet" said the leader, addressing a scrawny, outlaw with a grizzled reddish beard and soiled clothes who was rummaging through the piles of baggage that had been thrown off the roof. "We miss anything or is it all books?". Then he turned to a slim, young, blonde-haired man on foot, holding a rifle on Shecky. "Walt, make sure he don't try anything." Skeet looked up from his work and called out, "Hey, Blake! He were tellin' the truth. It's just books and stuff like that." He held up a globe of the world in one hand and spun it on its axis with the other, chuckling. "See," he said. "Useless!"

Curry could sense that Miss Grady, still behind him, was about to say something in protest. He steadied her with a gentle touch to the arm and shook his head slightly without turning around. She seemed to calm down when the outlaw put the globe back in the trunk.

Kid's heart sank when he turned to examine the sixth outlaw, apparently the lowest man on the totem pole, who was standing off to the side holding the reins of three horses and looking on at the action. He knew this guy. From somewhere. He pulled his hat brim lower and studied the face surreptitiously. He was young, barely twenty. How did he know him…?

Then it came to him – It was about five years earlier, after a hard winter that he and Heyes had spent in Mexico and the other members of the Devils Hole Gang had whiled away in various warmer climes. When they all had reassembled at the Hole, Hank had showed up with his young nephew in tow. The kid was only about 16 years old. His pa was Hank's brother, who had been raising the boy alone since his ma had passed on. But then he up and died that winter as well. Hank, as the nearest living relative, had stepped in. Hank didn't see any reason why the kid couldn't follow in his footsteps along the outlaw trail, but both Heyes and Curry had immediately kiboshed that notion.

"He's just a boy," Heyes had said, in a tone Hank knew better than to argue against. "He's too young to decide if this is the route in life he's gonna take. Ain't you got any other kin?"

Hank disclosed he had a sister in Montana and reluctantly agreed it would be best to bring the boy up there to live. Lobo ended up riding along with them the very next day. So he was only in the Hole two days and a night. And it was five years ago… Would he remember..? What was his name again? Jack, or Jake, or –

"Jude!" called the leader. "Quit lollygaggin' with those horses and check the inside of the stage. Mick," he said, turning to the horseman on his right, the one that looked like he had some Irish blood in him. "What say you relieve these fine folks of their valuables so they can be on their way?"

Mick sheathed his rifle in the scabbard attached to his saddle and slid off his horse as Jude tied the reins he was holding to the branches of a scrubby bush and strode toward the stage. He paused when he reached the small group of passengers.

"Don't I know you from someplace?" Jude asked the Kid, wrinkling up his forehead.

"Nope," replied Kid in a slightly countrified twang. "Less you been to Illinois. This is the farthest west I ever been. I ain't never been in a robbery before!" he added, as if it was kind of exciting and he might even be a little in awe of the robbers.

The outlaw that had been addressed as Skeet spoke up proudly, "Well, then, this is yer lucky day, kid! Yer bein' robbed by the best! Blake Mason and his Wild Mountain Boys!"

Curry tried to look suitably impressed. Mick relieved Bridger of his billfold and began to pat him down roughly. Jude climbed into the stage coach as Mick finished with Bridger and turned to Brock, who was holding both arms above his head and wearing an expression of shear terror.

"Come on little fella," chuckled the big Irishman, "I won't hurtcha. All we want is yer money."

Brock lowered his hands cautiously and drew his own billfold from his vest pocket and handed it over to the brigand with a trembling hand. Mick opened it and pulled the few bills out with evident disappointment. "That's all?" he asked, dropping the empty wallet and tucking the money into a small cloth bag. "He doesn't pay you enough," he added, jerking his head to indicate Mr. Bridger. "Let me just check your pockets now, there's a good man."

"Hey! Lookee what I found here!" called Jude, who had been ransacking the inside of the coach, looking for hidden valuables. In one hand dangled Mr. Bridger's gold watch, swinging slightly from its chain. In the other he had Kid's gunbelt.

"Now see here!" said Bridger. "That watch belonged to my grandfather!"

"Well, it's ours now," Mason said, grinning. He stretched out a hand and Jude tossed the watch, the sun catching the gleaming gold as it arched through the air. The mustachioed outlaw caught it neatly and held it to his face examining it. "Nice…" he said appraisingly. He smiled at the irate banker and said, "You look like you can afford to buy another one." Then he turned his attention to the gunbelt.

"And who belongs to that?" he asked, pointing to Jude, still holding it up.

"It's mine!" piped up the Kid. "I bought it in a second-hand shop in Denver. I'm gonna get me a six-shooter and I'm gonna learn how to shoot it, too. I'm never goin' back to Springfield. I'm gonna stay out West and be a cowboy."

Blake Mason narrowed his eyes at the young man. Curry was known for his "babyface," and he definitely looked younger than his 28 years. With his affected accent and wide-eyed exuberance, he gave the impression of a young, naïve country boy.

"You been readin' too many dime novels, kid," advised Mason. "You'll soon find out that pushin' cattle ain't nearly as glamorous as them books make it out ta be."

Meanwhile Skeet had given up on the baggage and had relieved Curry of the small wad of currency he offered. When he finished patting him down, he made a move as if to reach for Amanda. "Hey!" Curry cried, "You leave my sister alone!"

"Hand me your purse, Sis," he instructed, reaching to take her small reticule and then passing it over to the skinny robber. "There. Now you've got everything we have. So just leave her alone."

"Your sister, eh? And is she going to become a cowboy as well?" sneered Mason from his perch.

"She's a school teacher," Curry-as-Amanda's-brother replied proudly. "She's goin' to her new job in Bridgerton and I'm gonna see that she gets there safe and sound."

"That's true," added Bridger. "I can vouch for –"

"Can't the little lady speak for herself?" interrupted Blake.

Kid groaned inwardly as the little lady did indeed begin to speak for herself. "Yes, I certainly can," she stated, poking her head out from behind her "brother's" shoulder. "It's just that Thaddeus has always been protective of me." Kid tried to push her behind him and out of sight again, but the gang had already seen and heard enough to become interested - very interested.

"She's awful purty," said Skeet with admiration.

"Geez, she talks like a real lady," enthused Jude.

"If I had her for a teacher, maybe I wouldn'ta quit school," added Mick, moving a little closer.

"She went to college," bragged Curry, attempting to get the attention back on himself.

Skeet pulled the money from Amanda's handbag and handed the currency, as well as Curry's money, over to Mick, who added it to the bag. Skeet held the empty purse out toward Amanda, saying, "Want it back?"

When the girl stepped around her protector to reach for it, the thief quickly pulled it away and said teasingly, "It'll cost ya!"

"But you've already taken all my money," she protested, ignoring the Kid's attempts to shush her.

"It'll cost ya - - a kiss!" Skeet leered.

All the outlaws began to laugh in an ugly way. Kid did not like where this was going.

Pulling Amanda behind him once again he said forcefully, "She don't want it no more after you put your dirty hands on it!" He deliberately knocked the purse from the thief's hand to the ground and kicked it away, hoping to distract him from the schoolteacher once and for all. At the same time, the stagecoach driver, who had been silently fuming, yelled, "Leave her be!" and ignoring the rifle pointed at him, began to stride towards her.

"Don't you take another step, old man," snarled Walt, the outlaw who was guarding him.

"What are ya gonna do, shoot me?" taunted Sheckerson. "Yer all nothin' but a bunch of cowards!"

Kid was sure Walt was going to kill the driver on the spot, but instead he flipped the long gun around deftly and smashed the butt into the back of Shecky's skull, whose body crumpled sickeningly to the ground. Amanda made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a gulp. She attempted to rush to the injured driver, but Curry held her back. Things were going south pretty fast. At this point, Mick was the nearest robber to him, but his attention was drawn to the outburst of violence, joining in the jeering laughter at the fallen driver. Kid seized the opportunity by hauling off and punching him square in the nose – not with all his strength, continuing to portray a wet-behind-the-ears farm boy. As intended, this didn't hurt the big Irishman so much as provoke him. He shook his head like an enraged bull, then, snarling, he slugged Curry hard on the jaw with a meaty fist.

The Kid could take a punch. And as punches go, this wasn't the hardest he'd ever been hit, despite his assailant's size. He supposed it helped that he knew it was coming. At any rate, he stayed in character and slumped to the ground. Just as he expected, Amanda immediately hastened to his side and crouched down to check on him. He lay with eyes closed as she patted his cheek gently repeating, "Thaddeus" in her most sisterly tones, despite the fear and panic rising within her.

The terrified young woman hid her surprise as she felt Mr. Jones's hand slide beneath her dress and up along her leg to grasp the pistol in her garter. He cracked one eye at her and whispered, jaw clenched, "Don't worry, I'm fine. Just stay here a minute while we see how this goes. And be ready to duck."

Immensely relieved, Amanda pretended to minister to her "brother," hiding him as best she could with her body. She could feel the tension running through him, vibrating like a taut bow strong, as he watched out of the corner of his eye, his hand on the handle of his Colt hidden beneath her full skirts. All the men were looking to their leader, apparently awaiting his signal, as if to see whether he approved or disapproved of this sudden turn to violence. Would he encourage more mayhem, or had they already crossed some invisible line? At some point during the upheaval, Mason had drawn his own gun, and he was now aiming it toward Bridger and Brock, perhaps expecting them, as the only men still standing, to act out next. Still feigning unconsciousness, Curry took note of each outlaw's position, mentally ranking and prioritizing their level of threat. He'd have to shoot Mason first, if it came to that. Then the mounted Mexican with the rifle followed by Walt... The math worked: Six men, six bullets. But could he get them all in time…? For one long moment that felt more like an eternity, no one spoke. A hawk screamed somewhere in the distance, an eerie intrusion into the tense situation.

At last, Mason's big, white teeth once more stretched into a wide smile. He uncocked his gun, twirled it a couple times, and shoved it back into his holster. The tension immediately lifted as all the other outlaws stood down, Mick and Walt lowering their rifles, Jude, Skeet, and Mick moving toward their horses. Amanda felt Mr. Jones's body relax and release the grip on the gun strapped to her thigh. He let his arm drop to the ground and pretended to slowly wake up. She helped him into a sitting position. Curry stared up at Mason, who had nudged his horse close enough to stand just next to him and Amanda, looking down at them from his saddle.

"We didn't wanna hurt ya, kid," Mason said, still smiling. "Ya shouldn't poke a wasp's nest if ya don't wanna get stung. But ya do have sand, I'll give ya that. Yer takin' damn good care of yer sister. When you get tired of eatin' dust drivin' cattle, you come look me up. Just ask around. Everybody knows Blake Mason."

"And his Wild Mountain Boys," chortled Skeet, climbing up onto his horse.

"C'mon boys. Let's ride. See ya 'round, kid!" called Mason.

Jude took one last look at Curry, now standing, and turned to his leader, "Huh. You keep callin' him 'kid' reminds me of who it is I thought he was at first. Kid Curry. Funny, ain't it? He don't even wear a gun!"

All the outlaws guffawed at that comment, kicked their horses into a gallop and disappeared into a cloud of dust.


	10. Chapter 10 - The Aftermath

As soon as the bandits had ridden off, the Kid and Amanda Grady rushed over to where Shecky lay, injured and unconscious. Will Brock immediately sank to his knees and began to mumble what sounded like prayers of thanksgiving for being delivered from evil. His boss, Harold Brock, was complaining bitterly about his lost pocket watch: "You said to hide it, so I hid it! But they found it anyway, didn't they? Do you know it was 18 karat gold? Do you realize how much it's worth? Do you?"

"Well, I'm guessin' priceless, since it belonged to your grandpa," Kid answered blandly as he jogged over to the stagecoach to retrieve a canteen. Amanda had pulled Shecky's head into her lap and was stroking his face gently, oblivious to the blood seeping from his bushy black hair and staining the front of her skirt.

"You might be able to get it back," Kid offered helpfully. "In a couple weeks, you can try lookin' in the pawn shops in the towns nearby. You'll have to pay for it, of course. But you'll get a good deal on it."

Bridger looked at Curry incredulously. "It wasn't really my grandfather's watch," he sputtered. "My grandfather didn't have a penny to his name. I'm a self-made man."

"With a little help from your wife, sir," put in Brock, who seemed to have wrapped up his prayers and now felt quite relieved - in fact, even a tad giddy at finding himself still among the living. Bridger shot him a glare, then smiled sheepishly.

"At least they didn't get my wedding ring," he commented, reaching deep inside his pants to retrieve the heavy gold ring with the ruby jewel. "Ida would have eaten me for breakfast!"

Both men laughed loudly at that, revealing a rare glimpse of an actual human being somewhere inside the pompous banker, which for some reason made Curry warm to him, just a little bit. Maybe that's why he let his guard down a few moments later when Amanda, reminded by the retrieval of the hidden ring, remembered Curry's six-shooter tucked in her garter.

Curry had gently removed the injured man from the teacher's lap, laid him on his belly, and was bathing the gash on the back of his head with a wet cloth, torn from a clean shirt he'd found among the strewn luggage.

Miss Grady discreetly reached under her skirts and produced the Colt, which she gingerly handed to Curry. Pleased to have it back in his possession, Kid twirled it around his finger a few times and almost shoved it into his holster, which he recalled at the last minute wasn't strapped around his hips, but lying in the dirt where Jude had tossed it. Instead, he added one last flourish and tucked it into his waistband. Too late, he noticed three pairs of wide eyes were staring at him. A faint echo of Heyes' voice saying, "Not unless you go and prove it to him" flitted through his memory as Brock give a sharp and pointed look at Bridger, who nodded thoughtfully. Shecky chose that moment to wake up, reaching up to grab at the wet cloth. Amanda was at his side in an instant, saying, "You're alright, Mr. Sheckerson, you just have a nasty bump on the head."

"Those varmints still here?" the injured driver asked, hanging on Curry's arm as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

"No, they're long gone," Curry answered

'Well, then, let's get this mess cleaned up," the driver said, struggling to get to his feet.

"You just rest here a bit, Shecky," Curry urged. "We'll take care of it."

The passengers then gathered up the books, clothing, and other items scattered about, repacked them in the trunk, and got them loaded back onto the stage. Truth be told, Bridger didn't do too very much of the actual work, believing himself to be much more valuable as a supervisor than a lowly laborer.

When they were ready to leave, Shecky insisted he could drive the coach, but it was obvious he still felt weak and dizzy. No matter how much the others insisted that Mr. Jones could drive, he wouldn't hear of it, until finally Amanda offered to let him lie his head in her lap inside the coach. This turned out to be an offer he couldn't refuse.

"I'm just not entirely sure of the way," said the newly recruited driver.

"Oh, it's easy," said the veteran. "Just follow this road until you see the station. We're about 12 miles away or so. When you enter a forested area, you'll know you're close. When you get a coupla miles away, the horses'll practically race each other to their stalls."

Two hours later, they entered the woods. It was starting to get a little too dark to see, but just as Shecky had said, the horses sensed they were nearing home. The animals could see well enough in the dim light and knew where they were going, so Kid was really just holding the reins, not particularly doing anything with them.

When he judged they were about a mile from the Way Station, Kid saw a light up ahead and reckoned they were nearer than he'd thought. But as the light got closer and closer it became apparent it was not coming from a building, but rather from a lantern held by a mounted man.

"Yo, there, Shecky!" called a male voice. "That you?"

"It's Shecky's stagecoach," Kid yelled back, "but he ain't drivin' it. He's inside."

Horse and rider cantered to meet them. Once at the stage, the man asked urgently, "What's a matter with Shecky? He sick or something?"

"A little banged up," answered the Kid. "We got held up."

Amanda's voice came from somewhere beneath him, "He got hit in the head, but he's feeling much better."

"Harrison!" Shecky's voice was heard to say. "You worried about me?"

"Yes, I _am_ worried about you, you ornery cuss! You're over an hour late! And Mary's fit ta bust! I came out lookin' for ya."

"Thanks to the good care I've been receiving from this lovely young lady and the drivin' by that young man up there, I reckon I'm doin' just dandy."

"Mr. Bridger, Mr. Brock. You two gentlemen alright in there?"

"We're fine, Bill. Just a bit annoyed and very hungry."

"Good. I'll ride ahead and tell Mrs. Harrison to reheat supper. Want the lantern, pal?"

"Oh, that's okay, Mr. Harrison. Seems the horses know the way."

"That they do, young feller. And thanks for taking care of my partner." Harrison reached up to shake Curry's hand. "Names' Bill Harrison."

"Jones. Thaddeus Jones," said Curry as they clasped hands.

It wasn't long before Kid saw more lights through the trees, glowing softly and welcoming from the windows of the two-story inn and streaming from the open doors of the nearby barn. The horses were practically running now, knowing they'd soon be getting their dinner and a well-deserved rest.

"That's right, fellas," Kid murmured to the team. "I know exactly how you feel."


	11. Chapter 11 - Finally Safe --or are they?

Bill Harrison and his two sons were waiting to meet the stage when they pulled into the station yard. The front door of the inn was flung open and two women emerged, one wiping her hands on her apron, shouting, "You made it! Come on in, you must be starving." Both women hurried toward the coach.

As one of the boys took hold of one of the lead horses' bridle, Bill opened the stagecoach door and he and the other boy helped Shecky clamber out. Bill supported the injured man as they walked across the yard and to the house, Shecky already launching into a colorful telling of their misadventures. Kid set the brake and hopped down as Miss Grady stepped to the stage door. She had a bit of dried blood on her skirt, but otherwise looked none the worse for wear after the ordeal.

"Oh, you poor dear!" cooed the woman in the apron, apparently Bill Harrison's wife Mary. "Bill told us about the robbery. You must have been frightened to death. You're so brave!"

"Oh, no," insisted Amanda. "I was petrified. I was so scared I wanted to faint or run away."

"But you didn't," said Curry as he handed her down from the stage. "Bein' brave ain't the same as not bein' scared. It's bein' scared and standin' your ground anyway. Which is what you did."

"Well said, Mr….?"

"Jones, ma'am. Thaddeus Jones. And this is Miss Grady. You already know Mr. Brock and Mr. Bridger."

The latter two were now climbing out of the stage themselves.

"Good to see you, gentlemen. I've got your beds turned down for you and your favorite chicken and dumplings for supper," she said jovially before turning back to Curry to complete the introductions.

"How do you do, Miss Grady, Mr. Jones. I'm Mary Harrison and this is Eleanor Pudlington. She'll be riding to Bridgerton with you tomorrow. And those two rascals," she said, indicating the teenaged boys unharnessing the horses, "are my sons, Billy and Charlie. Now, let's get you all inside and get some food into you. You all look simply famished. My boys will take care of everything out here. They already et."

"Yes, ma," answered Billy and Charlie in unison.

"Yes, ma'am," echoed Kid, his stomach growling in agreement as the aroma of chicken and dumplings wafted from the cozy inn.

After the evening meal, Curry went outside to stretch his legs, then stopped in the barn and checked on his horse, making sure she was settled for the night. Then he headed for the room he'd been assigned. He had hoped he wouldn't have to share a large dormitory with Brock and Bridger, a prospect he did not relish. But fortunately for him, Bridger and Brock stayed here often and Mrs. Harrison always put them in her best room, apparently with one large double bed and a smaller one as well, often set aside for families. Kid knew without asking which man would get the child's bed. Happily, the lady of the house had offered him a small single room at the end of the upstairs hallway. To reach it, he had to pass Bridger's room. The door was slightly ajar, the rumble of male voices emanating from within. Some gut instinct signaled Curry to silence his footfalls. Remembering the significant look that had passed between the two men when he'd showed off with his gun earlier, he paused just outside the door to listen.

"You know, Brock, I've been thinking about what that outlaw said about Jones."

"You mean about him being Kid Curry? Do you imagine there is any credence to that supposition?"

"Think about it. You've seen that fancy weapon he wears – and which he took great pains to hide from the bandits. Supposedly he stopped a runaway stage, which would evidence a certain level of derring-do. And don't forget all that twirling business that we both witnessed. And didn't he mention that his partner remained in Bridgerton to play in the big poker game?"

"Hannibal Heyes _is_ known for his skills at the card table," speculated Brock.

"And both of them are infamous conmen. You saw how smoothly he transformed himself into a corn-fed farm boy. If I hadn't already known the man, I would have been quite convinced."

"He also appeared to be quite familiar with stage hold-ups – although Heyes and Curry only ever rob trains and banks exclusively. Everybody knows that."

"Are you aware of the reward offered on Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry?"

"$10,000 apiece. I see their wanted posters every time I go into the sheriff's office."

Bridger grinned. That would certainly more than make up for the expense of hiring that fluffy little piece of calico masquerading as a schoolteacher.

"But, Mr. Bridger, if he is indeed Kid Curry, how are we going to apprehend him?"

"That's simple. When we arrive in Bridgerton tomorrow, he will continue the charade of being 'Mr. Jones' until he receives his payment. Before that can occur, I will discreetly inform Sheriff Smith as to his true identity, and that of his partner, of course. Mike and his deputies will execute the actual arrests, but I, as the informant, will reap the just rewards. Of course, I'll give you a cut."

Wonderful, thought the Kid sarcastically. He retreated soundlessly to the stairs, descended the first few steps, then re-ascended them heavily and trod just as noisily down the hall. This time when he passed Bridger and Brock's room he could hear them discussing the weather in artificially loud voices.

Curry went to the room at the end of the long hallway. He took off his boots and hat, but left the rest of his clothes on. He unbuckled his gunbelt and hung it over the headboard, flopped down onto the bed, and set his mental alarm clock.

He knew he had to leave, but he wanted to wait until the rest of the household was sound asleep. So much for the 500 bucks, he thought, sighing. And he'd really earned it, too.

Amanda Grady was so excited she didn't know if she'd be able to sleep. She'd had more adventures in the last few days than in her entire 25 years of existence! She exchanged a few pleasantries with her roommate, Mrs. Pudlington, as she laid out her best dress, which she had packed for the special occasion of arriving in Bridgerton and meeting the townspeople and her future pupils. She wanted so badly to make a good first impression. Mrs. Pudlington had shared at supper that she lived on a small ranch nearby with her husband and three teen-aged sons. She also had an older daughter, now married and living in Bridgerton and expecting her first child. The rosy-cheeked, middle-aged lady was thrilled at the prospect of welcoming her first grandchild into the world. She was planning to stay with her daughter to help with the delivery and care of the newborn for a few weeks, so would be sharing the last leg of the coach ride the following day. Once the two women were in their room, she showed off a dozen or more articles of baby clothing, receiving blankets, bibs, bonnets, and more that she had made for the child. Amanda oohed and aahed over each clever little bootie and darling be-ribboned baby gown. "And just think," the older woman gushed, "in a few years, you'll be my grandchild's teacher!"

Both women readied themselves for bed, dressed in their nightgowns, and climbed under the covers. Her companion fell asleep almost the moment Amanda blew out the lamp, but the younger woman lay awake for a long time. She finally drifted off and was right in the middle of a dream about being chased around the farmyard back home by an angry cow who was bellowing at her belligerently.

Amanda started awake with a jolt. The noise from her dream continued. It took a moment of disorientation for her to realize where she was – in the Stillwater Station Inn, just a few hours away from her new life as a schoolteacher in the remote Colorado town of Bridgerton. The loud noise turned out not to be an angry bovine, but rather Mrs. Pudlington's hearty snoring. Amanda rolled over and attempted to go back to sleep. She pulled the blankets over her head, then the pillow. But it was no use. She knew she would not be returning to slumber this night.

Instead she rose and dressed in the frock she had so carefully laid out. She tried to arrange her hair in the looking glass by the light of the moon filtering through the gauzy curtains, but it was so dim she decided she would wait until the light of day to pin it up. Instead she shined her scuffed boots as best as she could with a rag and slid them onto her feet, buttoning them up with her button hook. Making her bed and packing up her carpetbag could wait until morning as well, she determined. Careful not to awaken her roommate, she left the room. She tiptoed down the stairs, went outside into the dark, and sat down on the bench on the wide veranda. It was chilly near the mountains, so unlike the balmy August nights back home. Chilly enough that she wished she'd brought along her woolen shawl, but instead of venturing back upstairs, she drew up her knees and wrapped her arms about herself, hugging them to her chest. Amanda figured it was still a couple hours until dawn, but she would fill the time by stargazing, telling the beloved myths of the constellations to herself. She imagined one day teaching the stories to her students and practiced silently one of her favorites, inspired by the sparkling "W" that was the vain queen, Cassiopeia, just above the distant mountains, black humps against the jeweled lapis sky. She and her weak, hen-pecked husband, King Cepheus, were doomed to sail around the North Star Polaris forever, half the time upside down in their celestial thrones. Amanda was lost in the story, adding new details, including sandy blonde curls and the bluest of eyes for the hero of the tale, never mind he was from Greece. But just as gallant Perseus was about to save the fair Andromeda from certain death in the jaws of the horrible sea monster Cetus, Amanda head a furtive noise from inside the inn. She turned to see the door open slowly and a figure emerge.

It was too dark to discern features, but she knew instantly who belonged to that broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, long-legged silhouette. She wondered what Mr. Jones was doing up in the middle of the night. He passed her huddled on the bench in the corner of the shadowy porch, evidently not noticing her, and strode toward the barn. Maybe checking on his horse, she mused, as he disappeared inside the structure. Impulsively, she unfolded herself, rose, and followed him, mentally shushing a persistent inner voice that kept insisting that a proper lady did not venture into a deserted barn in the middle of the night with a man.


	12. Chapter 12 -Change of Plans

Judging by the moon's position, it was half past three. Kid reckoned he'd have plenty of time to find his partner, explain the situation at hand, and then they'd make their getaway. The only problem he anticipated was the possibility of running into Wade Thomas or Mike Smith - or any of the other townspeople who knew of his errand, for that matter. Returning before the stage and without the schoolteacher would look very suspicious. Well, he'd just have to deal with that when it happened. Kid entered the barn and went to work tacking up his horse. After so many hasty departures, he and Heyes had become quite efficient at this task. Even in the dark, Kid had his horse ready to go in record time.

He took hold of the mare's bridle and turned to lead her out of the barn, then stopped dead in his tracks. There, framed in the open doorway, was Amanda Grady. Her long, thick hair had been unpinned and it tumbled about her shoulders, limned in silvery moonlight. She was wearing what must have been her "Sunday Best" dress, no doubt hoping to make a favorable first impression on her new employers. It was trimmed with lace at the throat and wrists and sprigged all over in a delicate floral pattern. To his surprise, Kid felt as if a sharp little pin had stabbed right through his heart.

"So it's true," she breathed.

"What are you doin' up so early, Miss Grady?" he inquired, tipping his hat, as if it was the most perfectly normal thing in the world to be saddling his horse in the wee hours of the morning.

"I couldn't sleep," she answered. "Mrs. Pudlington's snoring is worse than a whole barn full of calving milk cows. I saw you come in here and I followed you."

"Listen, Miss Grady. Something's come up. I'm real sorry to tell you that I can't take you the rest of the way to Bridgerton. But Shecky's a good man and he's right fond of you. He'll make sure you get there safe and sound."

"You're leaving because that robber was right. You _are_ Kid Curry! And Bridger has figured it out too. He's going to try to turn you in for the reward!" Amanda said softly.

"No, sweetheart, he only THINKS I'm Kid Curry and that my partner is Hannibal Heyes," Curry answered, speaking slowly and reasonably. "Curry and Heyes are wanted dead or alive, and the prospect of $20,000 makes most folks prefer the dead option. And then it won't matter much that they're wrong about who we are."

"Take me with you," she blurted hastily, barely believing she had spoken the words aloud.

"Now you know I can't do that, Miss Grady," replied Curry. "I've got to warn my partner and then we both have to disappear."

"Please!" begged the young woman eagerly. "I truly love teaching, but before I resign myself to spending the rest of my life in a schoolhouse, I want to have a little adventure."

"Gettin' stuck on a runaway stage and held up at gunpoint weren't enough adventure for you?" Kid asked teasingly.

"I was hoping for an adventure that's a little more…" she paused, swallowed audibly, then barely whispered the word, "romantic."

"Now, Miss Grady, don't you believe a word that banker said about you bein' an old maid! You're so pretty you'll have loads of suitors."

"But if I marry, I'll have to stop teaching."

"And if you come with me, you'll have to stop teachin' too - 'cuz your reputation will be ruined. The good folks of Bridgerton'll send you packin' straight back to Illinois."

"I could say you kidnapped me!" she suggested hopefully.

"What about _my_ reputation?" he countered. "I don't want folks thinkin' I go around kidnappin' ladies!"

"But no one would think YOU kidnapped me; they'd think it was Kid Curry who did it!"

"Listen, Miss Grady, I don't want nobody thinkin' Kid Curry kidnaps ladies neither." Especially not the governor of Wyoming, he added silently to himself.

"He's already wanted for bank and train robbery, what's a little kidnapping on top of that? Besides, what do you care what people think about Kid Curry's reputation?"

"The answer is no, Amanda," Curry said firmly. "You can't come with me. That's just the way it is."

That was the first time he'd ever called her by her Christian name. Hearing him say it caused a tiny thrill to ripple through her body.

Kid looked down at the young woman gazing up at him, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted. He didn't plan on it happening, but suddenly he was holding her in his arms and crushing his lips against hers, her soft body melting into his. She wrapped one arm tightly around him, the fingers of the other twining through his curls. The world seemed to spin around them as they both lost themselves in the kiss. For that moment, no one else existed – not Bridger nor Brock, not the governor of Wyoming, not even his partner.

That was when he heard a familiar sound – although usually he was the one making it.

Click.

Kid felt the cold steel of the cocked pistol pressed to the back of his neck. Immediately, the couple broke off the kiss. When Curry looked up, he met the slightly amused eyes of Blake Mason, the leader of the outlaw gang that had robbed them, also holding a sixgun, this one pointed straight at his chest. He pulled Amanda close, trying once again to protect her with his own body.

"Brother and sister my Aunt Fanny!" drawled Mason. "Guess you was right after all, Jude."

"I knew it! I knew he was Kid Curry!" Jude cried triumphantly, stepping from behind Curry, gun still drawn, but thankfully no longer pressing against his neck.

"Just because I ain't her brother don't make me Kid Curry. I only said that so you would leave her alone."

"If you ain't Kid Curry, then why are you high-tailin' it outta here in the middle of the night?" Mason asked cagily.

"I betcha that fat banker figured it out too and you're lightin' out before he can turn ya into the law and claim the ree-ward," said another one of the outlaws, stepping into the light.

"I'm so sorry! If I hadn't stopped you, you'd have gotten away," stammered the young woman. "You might be halfway to Granite Bluff by now." She quickly gasped and a guilty expression stole across her face, as if she had realized she said something she shouldn't have.

Kid glanced sharply at her. He caught on immediately to what she was trying to do and admired her quick thinking.

"Shut up!" he said to her harshly, playing along with her gambit.

"Oh no!" she replied, covering her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide with dismay. "I meant –"

"Granite Bluff, huh….?" interrupted Mason. "Now why would ya be tryin' ta git back to Granite Bluff? Could it be that's where your partner is waitin' for ya?"

Kid's face was a stoic mask. For a split second, he let the mask slip to reveal an expression of fear, which disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. It was just enough to confirm Mason's suspicions.

"Looks like we're about to double our payday, boys! Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes both! That's twenty thousand dollars!"

The rest of the gang members were practically drooling.

Kid started to protest, but before he could manage to get any words out of his mouth, one of the outlaws hastily gagged him with his own bandana while another wrestled his arms behind his back and wound a long strip of rawhide around his wrists, tying it tightly in a double knot.

Amanda felt tears falling down her face. She was responsible for this unfortunate reversal of fortune and was fiercely determined to do whatever was in her power to rescue the man who'd saved her twice over, Kid Curry or not.

Now the Kid was being pushed and pulled up onto his horse. He could have told the gang it was much easier to force a man onto a horse under his own power by holding a gun to him and THEN to tie his hands behind his back - but then again, they hadn't exactly asked for his advice.

Soon they were galloping away from the barn, Kid barely keeping his balance in his awkward position.

He felt a glimmer of hope as the outlaw leader turned his horse east, in the direction of Granite Bluff. At least his partner would be safe, he consoled himself. And Amanda would surely tell Heyes what had happened when she got to Bridgerton. And then Heyes'd come for him, he knew that for a fact.

But would Heyes get there in time…?


	13. Chapter 13 - A Plea for Help

Amanda Grady stood in the door of the barn with a heavy heart, watching the riders depart in the moonlight. She knew what she had to do. She just prayed she had the strength to do it.

There was no time to change her clothing or to gather any supplies. She approached the first stall and came eye to eye with the horse Harrison had ridden to meet the stage, a fine chestnut mare, long in the legs with nice lines. The mare and the woman looked into each other's eyes. "I am very sorry to disturb you, honey, but we've got to go find Hannibal Heyes," Amanda murmured. The mare's bridle was suspended from a hook just outside the stall, and Amanda deftly and gently placed it on the compliant animal. She stroked her neck and praised her as she led her out of the stall. Having been raised on a farm, she had ridden horses all her life, very often barebacked, so she didn't bother looking around for Harrison's saddle. Instead she threw a blanket over the horse's back, clutched a handful of mane, and hauled herself up. She wished she knew the mare's name as she urged her out of the barn. "Get me to Bridgerton and I promise you I'll make it up to you," she whispered in the mare's ear as they cantered down the lane in the opposite direction as the gang had gone.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hannibal Heyes was looking forward to seeing his partner later that day. His new friend, Mayor Wade Thomas, had told him the stage was expected to arrive about noon. There was to be a welcoming party to meet it. The children of the town would all be holding bouquets of wildflowers for their new teacher. The School Board members had hung a banner in front of the stage coach office reading, "Welcome to Bridgerton, a Town with a Future" in large, block letters with fancy curlicue flourishes. Mrs. Bridger had arranged a luncheon in the Bridger mansion and all the town's leading citizens were invited to attend and meet the new schoolteacher. Heyes had achieved a modicum of local celebrity for having won a staggering $12,000 at the poker game and thus was included on the guest list. Moreover, he had graciously donated $1000 to the town, figuring correctly that it would buy a large portion of good will – a lesson learned from the boys' experience in Hadleyburg. The mayor and sheriff had told him that the brand new schoolhouse, still smelling of freshly sawn boards, had a mortgage of $1000 left to pay and that the founder of the town and owner of the bank, a Mr. Harold Bridger, was demanding an exorbitant interest rate. Heyes assumed his partner, as the teacher's official escort, would be included as well. He grinned to himself as he pictured the Kid's face when he told him how much he'd walked away with from the game! And he was sure Kid wouldn't mind the donation. In fact, they'd get half of it back once the Kid got paid.

Heyes still held the opinion that Bridgerton was a real nice town with real friendly folks. More than one of his new poker buddies had suggested he and his partner settle there permanently. But not only was Heyes ready to move on, he knew it was the only smart option. The former outlaws couldn't afford to get complacent. It was time to go. Heyes was thinking all these thoughts while eating his breakfast in the local café. He missed Kid's company and he paid tribute to his partner by teasing the pretty young waitresses in his absence. They blushed and gushed for him just as much as they had done for his golden-haired partner, which made Heyes feel pleased and a bit smug. He was smiling to himself, sipping the last of his coffee, feeling like all was right with the world, when a small boy, possibly about six years of age, dashed into the café.

"Mr. Smith," lisped the lad, "Mr. Smith, I have to tell you something, but it's a secret."

"Okay, Petie," answered Heyes agreeably. "Why don't you whisper it into my ear?" He leaned down from his table and tilted his head toward the boy, smiling indulgently, his dimples doing their usual damage to the females in the room.

"There's a lady wants you to meet her behind the livery stable," whispered Petie. "She gave me a dime to tell you!"

"Thank you, Petie," said Heyes. And here's another dime from me."

The little fellow raced out of the café clutching his newly earned riches, making a beeline for the penny candy display at the local mercantile, Heyes reckoned.

Hannibal Heyes drained his cup and reached into his vest pocket for a dollar coin, enough to pay for his meal and a generous tip, which he tucked neatly under the edge of his plate. He rose, nodded his thanks to the one waitress currently in view, and strode out of the café. He had no idea who this mysterious "lady" might be, but he was perfectly willing to honor her plea for secrecy, at least until he found out more. He acted for all intents and purposes like someone who was simply taking his morning constitutional, ambling toward the outskirts of town, where the livery stable backed up to a patch of woods composed of aspen trees that were so skinny they had survived the axe during the town's rapid growth, at least for the time being.

Heyes took a path into the woods which he knew from experience branched off and looped around, passing very close to the rear of the stable. As he approached, he noticed a girl in her teens or twenties, wearing a once pristine white print dress, now rumpled and travel-stained, leaning against a handsome chestnut mare, who was covered in lather and looked about done in. He couldn't help but notice that despite her obvious exhaustion and bedraggled appearance, the young woman was quite lovely.

Hearing his approach, she looked up and asked anxiously, "Mr. Smith? Are you Mr. Joshua Smith?"

"Yes, I am," he replied, flashing a dimple. "What can I do for you, Miss?"

Relief flooded her pretty features. "Oh, Mr. Smith, your partner has been captured by bandits! They're taking him to Granite Hill to turn him in for a reward! They think he's Kid Curry!" she gasped urgently.

Heyes instantly shifted into Outlaw Leader mode. This wasn't the first time one or the other of them had been recognized by fellow outlaws. His manner went from cordially genteel to all business as he barked out questions tersely, absorbing the pertinent information as quickly as possible.

"Where? When? How many? Is Thaddeus alright?"

"They left the way station between here and Granite Bluff about 4:00 this morning. There were six of them. Thad – uh, Mr. Jones – was fine when I saw him last, but his hands were tied and he was gagged." Tears seeped out the corners of the young woman's eyes. She looked ready to collapse. The horse wasn't in much better shape.

Heyes' mind was already calculating how long it would take him to make Granite Bluff. The gang might make poor time considering they were leading one horse with a bound prisoner on it, he speculated. He pictured a map of the area in his mind. He knew there was a short cut through the mountains which would shave several hours off the trip. It would be rough traveling, but it would be worth it. As he traced the route in his mind, he remembered a place he and Kid had hidden out in years ago just a couple hours outside of Granite Bluff, an abandoned mining town. He smiled as a Hannibal Heyes Plan began to form in his mind.

"Miss Grady, I presume," he said, eyebrows slightly raised in a question. When she nodded in the affirmative he added admiringly, "You've got a lot of sand for a schoolmarm, ma'am. Thank you for what you've done."

She nodded mutely, her eyes wide. "Will you rescue him?" she almost whispered.

"Of course I will," he answered, grinning rakishly, his dimples peeking out. "We always rescue each other."

His roguish confidence made her believe he could do anything he set his mind to. Impulsively she reached out and hugged him. When she released her hold, she swayed suddenly and would have hit the dirt had he not caught her in his arms.

"Are you alright?" Heyes asked with concern, helping her to a fallen log and sitting her down.

"I'm fine. You need to go. I wish I could help –"

"You already have. What are the school board members going to think?" he added, shaking his head in amusement.

"I don't care what they think. I'd do it again if I had the chance! It was all my fault they caught him! If I hadn't delayed him leaving -"

"Wait. He was leaving? Why was he leaving before he'd finished the job?"

"Mr. Bridger and Mr. Brock. They figured it out too. Thaddeus overheard them talking. They were planning to turn him in to the sheriff as soon as we got here. And you, too. He said he had to come here to warn you. I should never have … distracted … him," she added ruefully.

Heyes got the picture immediately and shook his head from side to side, mentally chiding the Kid for yet again falling for the charms of a pretty girl. "So when the folks at the way station woke up this morning, they must have thought you and Thaddeus ran off together…" Heyes said slowly, realizing what she'd risked to bring him the news. Then he asked, "Why'd they take him to Granite Bluff?"

"We tricked them into thinking you were there. We wanted to lead them away from you," was her answer.

"So when they get all the way to Granite Bluff and figure out I'm not there, that's going to make them mighty mad…"

Amanda stared at the dark-haired man. She could almost hear the gears in his head turning. If she hadn't already been convinced that Thaddeus was Kid Curry and that this man was Hannibal Heyes, she certainly was now.

Abruptly, Heyes, jumped to his feet and grabbed Amanda's hand. "C'mon!" he ordered.

"You have a plan?" she asked, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

"The beginnings of one," he answered, then led her around to the front of the livery stable. "Carson!" he called out, "There's a mare out back that's been ridden hard and needs seeing to. And as soon as you're done with that, get my horse saddled and ready to ride." Ben Carson gulped at the sight of the much-admired local poker champion Joshua Smith pulling a young lady along in his wake and hustled to do his bidding.

"Listen carefully," Heyes explained in a low, urgent tone as they walked through the town. Actually, Heyes was walking, but the petite school teacher was trotting along just to keep up. "This is what happened: You were never with Thaddeus and he was never trying to leave. You were sitting in your room, reading. The gang snuck into the inn and grabbed you. You were already dressed because you couldn't sleep."

"That part's true." Amanda offered helpfully.

"They planned to hold you for ransom. Thaddeus woke up when he heard noises. He followed you and tried to stop them, but they overpowered him and took him prisoner as well. But Thaddeus managed to cause a distraction which enabled you to get away and you rode straight here to get help. I happened to see you approaching town as I was out for my morning walk."

"But what about the kid?" she interrupted.

"I'm getting to that part!" he said impatiently, then realization dawned. " – oh, er, um, you mean the kid you sent to me with your message. Damn! Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Grady. But I had forgotten about him. His part in the story makes it seem as though you had something to hide."

"Well I do! If what you said happened had actually happened, wouldn't I have gone back to the way station instead of coming all the way here?" she asked.

"But you couldn't because you knew what Bridger knew – well, thought he knew."

"We don't have to keep pretending, Mr. Heyes," she whispered urgently.

"Call me Smith," he reprimanded.

"Sorry."

By now they had almost reached the sheriff's office, which Amanda gathered was their destination.

"Okay, I'm not goin' to mention that, but if it does comes up, you just say you didn't want the townspeople to get a bad first impression, you being all …well," he gestured vaguely at her disheveled appearance. "… And your horse couldn't take another step anyway."

"And I knew that you would help your partner so I sent for you – which is also true."

"You seem very concerned about being truthful," he couldn't help point out.

"Sorry."

Just before the sheriff's office, Heyes suddenly stopped and pulled the young teacher into the telegraph office. He grabbed a pencil stub and scrawled a quick message on the pad.

"Well, good morning Joshua," began the telegrapher with a friendly smile," and who might this young lady – "

"Horace, please! Send this to Granite Bluff right away!" Heyes interrupted, dropping some coins onto the counter. "And keep the change!"

"Should I wait for an answer, Joshua?" Horace inquired, but the pair had already left.

Horace shrugged his shoulders and began tapping out the message:

To Thaddeus Jones, Granite Bluff: Change of plans. Meet me in Lead Gulch. JS

Sheriff Mike Smith was sitting at his desk catching up on paperwork when suddenly the breathless couple burst through the door.

"Mike!" shouted Heyes." There's been a kidnapping! A gang of outlaws kidnapped your new schoolteacher, but thanks to my partner's quick thinking, she got away!"

The sheriff stood, attempting to absorb the information along with the sight of the young woman before him, her long hair a tangled mess, complete with a couple twigs and a leaf or two. Her face was smudged with dirt, two vertical white streaks betraying the tracks of her tears. Her left cheekbone was marked by a bloody scratch. One of her sleeves was torn at the shoulder, flapping open to reveal an angry welt on her slender upper arm. The rest of her dress was soiled and rumpled.

"Miss Grady?" Mike managed to say, dumbfounded.

"She needs medical assistance immediately. And I'm going to go rescue my partner!"

Heyes turned and left the sheriff's office as abruptly as he had entered.

Amanda Grady did the only sensible thing. She fainted.


	14. Chapter 14- Hannibal Heyes to the Rescue

More than one head turned to look curiously as Hannibal Heyes barreled through the main street of Bridgerton and through the door of the hotel. As he dashed up the staircase, he called to the desk clerk, "Fix me up a bill! I'm checking out! And have the cook pack a lunch for me and add that to the total."

Once in his room, he hurriedly stuffed his belongings into his saddle bags and carpet bag. His cash was already distributed among several locations, including his boots, hat band, the hidden compartment in his saddle bag, and a few other spots. His vest pocket held his walking-around money. From this he pulled out the amount necessary to settle up the bill.

"What's the rush, Mr. Smith?" inquired the clerk as his guest practically threw the money onto the counter and scooped up the cloth bag of food that had been hastily packed for him.

"My partner's in trouble!" replied Heyes as he raced out the door, letting it slam behind him with a bang. En route to the livery stable, he dashed into the mercantile, grabbed a hammer and a box of nails from a shelf, and slammed some money on the counter without even waiting for the surprised clerk to greet him. He stuffed the hardware into his carpet bag as he ran the rest of the way to the stables.

His horse was ready and waiting for him and he quickly settled up with the liveryman as well, explaining that he had a "family emergency," which was true, he could almost hear Miss Grady's voice insisting in his head. He threw his saddlebags over the horse and hastily tied on his carpet bag with his bedroll.

"Tell the boys good bye for me, Ben," he said, swinging up into the saddle and urging his mount into a gallop.

As he tore out of town, Hannibal Heyes found himself turning one thought over and over in his mind: his plan would fail before it had even begun if the gang didn't get wind of the telegram.


	15. Chapter 15 - Several Hours Later

The stagecoach rolled into Bridgerton just about noon. The "Welcome to Bridgerton, the Town with a Future" sign was still hanging from the stage coach depot, but there wasn't a soul in sight to welcome Mr. Bridger, Mr. Brock, and Mrs. Pudlington when they pulled up in front of it.

Bridger literally climbed over his subservient clerk to exit the coach first, leaving the younger, slighter man to struggle with Mrs. Pudlington, helping her to disembark. Mrs. Batenhorst would have been scandalized at the shocking display of ankle, calf, and even a flash of knee, but no one seemed to notice.

"Deliver my bags to my home," Bridger commanded the driver and stalked toward the sheriff's office.

Bill Harrison rolled his eyes. "Shecky owes me big time," he muttered to himself as he climbed down from the driver's box. "Don't know how he puts up with that arrogant SOB." If the poor man hadn't looked so miserable that morning, no way would he have offered to take his place on the Bridgerton run…

"Smith!" Mr. Bridger bellowed as he pushed the door to the jailhouse open, only to be met by Deputy Clayton on his way out.

"Clayton, where's the sheriff?" Bridger demanded.

"He's over to the schoolhouse, Mr. Bridger! The whole town's there! They's welcoming the new teacher! Wait'll you hear what happened to her! What a gal!" Clayton, clearly enamored with the town's latest celebrity, rushed out of the jailhouse to join the festivities.

"What!?" The banker blustered, red-faced. He had been about to report that the erstwhile new schoolteacher had eloped in the night with the notorious outlaw Kid Curry and that this time the school board had better listen to HIM and hire a man. Now he was being told that not only was she right here in town, apparently she was being feted.

Bridger hastened down the street as fast as his stocky legs would propel him. When he reached the newly built little building, he saw that, indeed, the entire town was assembled beneath the shade trees in front of the wooden schoolhouse. The board benches and mismatched chairs set up on the lawn were crammed full of people. Still more sat upon blankets spread upon the grass while others stood, all craning their necks to see the petite figure in front of the schoolhouse, surrounded by what must have been every single child in Bridgerton, dressed in their Sunday best. They must have closed the bank, he scoffed to himself when he spotted several of his tellers among the crowd. And there was the barber, the blacksmith, the grocer – even Horace, the telegrapher! "This is no way to run my town," he mumbled. Then he spotted the sheriff and the mayor, seated near the front. He pushed his way through the crowds impatiently.

But before he could get to Mike and Wade, he was intercepted by his own wife, the tall, angular Ida Bridger, the only person in the world whose opinion ever held any sway over him. In fact, she was the one who had come up with the name of "his" town. He had wanted to name it Bridgerville until she suggested the much classier sounding Bridgerton.

"Harold," she cried, "Darling! It's okay. Don't fret. She's fine, thank Providence. Why, you must have been worried sick, not knowing what had become of Miss Grady. You must have searched high and low. But she's here, she's safe. Come sit, dear. You've missed most of the speeches, but the children are about to sing a song."

The founder of Bridgerton sat obediently next to his wife and listened to the sweet soprano voices of Miss Grady's new pupils. As soon as the song was over, the crowd around him erupted in applause, then began chattering, as if resuming a previously interrupted conversation.

Bridger soon discovered it was way too late to change anyone's mind. His own tale of the robbery was met with little sympathy, since the Bridgertonians had already heard that story, plus the far more terrible (and exciting!) one, in which the highwaymen had stealthily entered the way station inn under cover of darkness and carried the pretty young schoolteacher away by force. Everyone was talking about the brave little schoolmarm and the gallant Mr. Jones, (whom they considered one of their own, most of the townsmen having met him and most of the townswomen having swooned over him), bravely rushing to her rescue, managing to free the young teacher, only to fall captive himself. And then poor brave Miss Grady riding all alone through the night to Bridgerton to alert his partner Mr. Smith - evidently the darling of the town, who had managed to ingratiate himself with every man, woman, child, and even dog of Bridgerton. Why, what a sight the poor thing was! Just look at that horrid scrape on her pretty little cheek! Amanda had been fussed over by the ladies, tended to by the doctor, and Mrs. Bridger herself had found a suitable frock to replace her ruined dress. It actually belonged to Betsy Johnson, the mayor's wife, who happened to be the same size as Amanda, but hadn't Ida been the one to suggest it? The young heroine had been fed and bathed and was finally left alone to sleep for an hour on crisp, clean sheets. She was now standing in front of her brand new schoolhouse, refreshed, scrubbed clean, wearing the borrowed dress, her hair combed and pinned into a becoming upswept coif, and holding a huge bouquet of wildflowers the children had presented to her one by one. The only hint of her previous ordeal was the small red scratch on her cheek. Somehow it made her look brave and winsome at the same time. Her one worry was about Kid – er, Thaddeus. But virtually everyone in town – even several of the children - kept reassuring her that those criminals were no match for the likes of Joshua Smith, who'd have his partner safe and sound before you knew it.

Ida tucked her hand in the crook of her husband's elbow and plunged through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea to allow their passage. She was prattling non-stop, filling him in on the details, as if he hadn't just heard them all. Bridger had no choice but to go along with her or appear foolish.

"We are all just praying that Joshua is able to find Thaddeus and rescue him from the brigands," Ida was saying.

Bridger snorted to think his wife was on a first-name basis with Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, but when he tried to explain that the gang of highwaymen had said that Jones was really Kid Curry, she laughed uproariously and exclaimed, "Oh, my dear! That is just too rich! It sounds like those outlaws weren't very bright, were they? No wonder Thaddeus was able to rescue Amanda. Not that it wasn't brave of him, mind you. But hearing how dim they are gives me great encouragement. I am just certain that our Joshua will outsmart them. I do hope he and Thaddeus return to Bridgerton. Such nice young men. Did you hear that Joshua won the poker game? It was a record pot - twelve thousand dollars! And do you know what he did? He donated one thousand dollars right on the spot to pay off the school's mortgage! Wasn't that generous? Oh, darling, I wish you could have met him! But at least you were able to get to know Thaddeus. Isn't he just the sweetest and bravest boy? Amanda told us he stopped a runaway team of horses and protected her when the outlaws attacked by pretending to be her brother. Wasn't that just clever as can be, Dear? Oh, if they do come back, you should hire them to work for you. And Darling, you _do_ know about the luncheon? At our house? Everyone who's anyone will be coming. You _will_ change out of your traveling suit, won't you, before they all come over? I'm having it catered by Mrs. Fitzsimmons and her daughters. You know, from the café? You should have seem them when they heard about Thaddeus getting captured. Oh, how they wept and carried on. All three of them, even the mother! Seems they'd taken quite a shine to Thaddeus, well who wouldn't? Oh, there's Betsy. Yoo Hoo, Betsy! You know, she wanted to have the luncheon at her house, being the mayor's wife and all. But I quickly convinced her that our home is more appropriate. After all, you founded this town. Mayors will come and go, but for goodness sakes the town is named Bridgerton! And of course, our house is much bigger, definitely more suitable. Now do run along, dear, and get changed before everyone starts to descend upon us. I had Sally press your good suit. It's laid out on the bed."

She kissed his pudgy cheek and sailed off in another direction. The most prominent citizen of the town that bore his name drew in his breath and heaved out one long sigh, then meekly walked toward his house to follow his wife's instructions.

The celebration continued the whole day and well into the evening. The luncheon in Bridger's home seemed to include not just the prominent citizenry, but the entire population. And it lasted until suppertime, when the townspeople began to haul tables and chairs into the broad main street and the womenfolk heaped them with more food. The children played tag and ran relay races. Several of the men hung lanterns in the trees and the workers from the sawmill erected a makeshift dancefloor. Anyone with an instrument joined an impromptu band and soon the dancing began. All businesses in Bridgerton, including the bank, remained closed the entire day, much to Harold Bridger's chagrin.

"Relax, Harry," Wade counseled, handing him a drink. "It's not every day we welcome a celebrity to our little town. Hail the conquering heroine, and all that." He clinked Bridger's glass with his own, grinning.

The whole town was abuzz, the streets filled with music, singing, talking, laughing, dancing, and merriment. There was no way that anyone could have heard, echoing through the empty telegraph office, the sound of the keys clicking and clacking. A message was arriving, but there was no one there to record it…


	16. Chapter 16 - Meanwhile, in Granite Bluff

By the time the Wild Mountain gang rode into Granite Hill, just around suppertime, Kid Curry was beyond miserable. Once the sun had risen, it shone directly into his eyes all through the morning, seeing as his hat had been knocked from his head only to hang uselessly against his back from the stampede strings. The gang had stopped around midday to take a break, rest the horses, and eat something, but they had failed to offer him anything beyond a few mouthfuls of warm water, after which the gag was retied even more tightly around his mouth. His throat was now parched and it was hard to swallow. The rawhide strip tying his hands was digging into the skin of his wrists, and his shoulders were cramping up from being held in the same position for so many hours. He knew that the stage should have arrived in Bridgerton by noon, and he found himself hoping Amanda hadn't said anything she shouldn't. In the best case scenario, she would have gone back to her room and pretended she didn't know what had happened, then discreetly told Heyes where they'd taken him when she arrived in Bridgerton. He sure hoped she didn't say too much. But that was a clever ploy of her to lead the gang away from Bridgerton and Heyes, he thought with admiration. The outlaws would be plenty pissed off when they found out his partner wasn't in Granite Bluff, but they'd still be glad of the prospect of the $10,000 reward. Heyes should have gotten the message by now and be well on his way here. Then Kid just had to hope that he would come to bust him out before he was moved on to Wyoming. He wondered if Heyes would remember the short cut through the mountains. Of course he would, he scolded himself, grinning a tiny bit despite his discomfort. If there was one person in the world he could rely on in a dire situation like this, it was Hannibal Heyes.

The procession of riders entering town, six of them brandishing weapons and the seventh obviously their prisoner, attracted considerable attention. Word spread quickly through the little berg. A small crowd began to gather.

"Who is it?" someone called out. "What's he done?"

"We gonna have a hangin'?" someone else asked hopefully.

"Mr. Jones!" rang out a familiar voice. It was the imperious Mrs. Batenhorst, shocked to recognize the bound prisoner. "What on Earth is going on here?" she demanded as the heavily armed party rode past.

Kid was helpless to answer, and the gang members had apparently decided to keep their infamous prisoner's presumed identity to themselves.

Together they rode to the sheriff's office, where the outlaws dismounted. Mason grabbed Curry roughly by the arm and pulled him from his saddle. With his hands tied, Kid's body was unbalanced and he was unable to break his fall. He hit the hard-packed dirt road heavily on his left shoulder, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He lay on his side, gasping around the gag, but not for long, as Mason roughly hauled him to his feet. He and Jude each took hold of an arm and pushed him through the door into the jailhouse. The other four gang members waited outside, ignoring the small crowd of curious passersby that had gathered.

"Sheriff Braxton, we caught us a wanted man, but we don't want it to get out just yet who it is," announced Mason.

"You're gonna have to tell me at least," responded the lawman.

"He's Kid Curry. Check yer paper."

The sheriff looked the bound young man up and down, then turned to read the wanted poster displayed prominently on his office wall.

"Well, the description fits alright," he began, "but then it would fit about a half dozen men I can think of just off the top of my head, including one of my own deputies. How do you know he's Kid Curry?"

"I was on a train him and Hannibal Heyes robbed once," replied Jude.

Kid scowled.

"How long ya had him trussed up like this?" asked Braxton. "He don't look so good."

"He's wanted dead or alive, Sheriff. He should be grateful we didn't just plug him," retorted Mason.

"That is, IF he's Kid Curry. We're gonna have to verify his identity before ya can claim the reward. And there's a shitload of paperwork," replied Braxton.

"Well then, you best get started on that," said Mason nastily. "And while yer at it, start in on the paperwork for Hannibal Heyes, cuz he's here in town."

"Ya don't say," answered the sheriff. "Ya know, I keep pretty close tabs on the comings and goings in this town and I ain't seen any stranger answering to the description of Hannibal Heyes." He thrust a thumb over his shoulder, pointing out Heyes' poster, displayed adjacent to Curry's.

"Where is he?" demanded Mason, roughly untying the bandana and yanking it out of Curry's mouth.

Whatever Curry attempted to reply, his voice was so raspy they couldn't understand him.

"Have some water, young man," insisted Braxton, pouring from a chipped pottery pitcher into a battered tin mug. He held the mug to Curry's lips until he'd drained every drop, then refilled it and repeated the procedure.

"I don't cotton to mistreating prisoners, no matter how notorious they may - or may not - be," he said with disapproval in his voice, untying Curry's wrists and throwing the latigo to the floor in disgust. The Kid grimaced as he slowly brought his stiff arms into a normal position, then began to rub his reddened wrists.

"Are you Kid Curry, son?" the sheriff asked.

"No sir. My name is Thaddeus Jones," Curry croaked. "My partner's name is Joshua Smith. He's supposed to be meeting me here when I'm done with a job, deliverin' the new schoolteacher to Bridgerton. These men are the only outlaws here. They held up the stagecoach yesterday and robbed all the passengers. I can line up four witnesses who will testify to that."

"Don't listen to him, Sheriff. He'll say anything to get outta this pickle. When we run across him, he was sparkin' that schoolteacher and he was fixin' to light out in the middle of the night. Talk about lovin' 'em and leavin' 'em," Mason jeered. Jude snorted with mirth.

"That's because the other men on the stagecoach heard you say - falsely - that I was Kid Curry. They were going to turn me in when we got to Bridgerton. That's why I was leavin'," the Kid insisted, his voice stronger now, but still a bit raspy.

"He's lyin', Sheriff. Everyone knows Heyes and Curry are conmen as well as thieves. You can't believe a single word that comes outta his mouth. He even told us he was that schoolteacher's brother!"

The sheriff raised one eyebrow. "Before or after he was kissing her?" he asked.

"Look. Just stick him in a cell and start on that paperwork, would ya? We'll be back with Heyes. Figure he's in one of the saloons."

The two outlaws swept out of the building.

When they'd gone, Braxton turned to the young prisoner sympathetically and said, "Sorry, son, I want to believe you, but unless you get someone to vouch for ya, I gotta do what they say."

"Sheriff, can you send a telegram for me?" asked Curry.

"I can't do it just now. Have ta wait 'til my deputy comes back from rounds."

Suddenly kid had a thought. "Sheriff! There's three people that live right here in Granite Hill that can vouch for me! Do you know a Mrs. Batenhorst? And her son? And a Mr. Trent? They were all passengers on the stage with me from Red Hill to Granite Bluff."

"Sure, I know 'em, son. But sounds like they don't know you very well if you only just met them on the stage t'other day."

Seeing the young prisoner's face fall, he added kindly, "But it's a start. Tell ya what. You write out your telegram. Soon as my deputy gets back I'll send it for you and I'll go look up Mrs. Batenhorst and her boy and old Mr. Trent." He rummaged through his desk drawer for a pencil and some paper.

The Kid's first impulse was to telegraph his partner, but of course he knew that was a bad idea. What if the outlaws found out? He had followed Amanda's lead to get them to think he was meeting Heyes here to prevent them from going to Bridgerton. A telegram could lead them right back to him. Besides, the stage should have arrived in Bridgerton hours ago and he was positive Amanda would have found his partner and told him the bad news. Kid had also thought of contacting Lom Trevors, but had immediately dismissed that idea, too. Lom Trevors was the one person in the world he could NOT ask to vouch for him because Lom would never lie to another lawman. If only the outlaws had struck between Red Hill and Granite Bluff! Then the Batenhorsts and Mr. Trent could identify them. Wait, he thought. Sheckerson could identify the thieves – and would be darned happy to do it, too. Would he still be in Bridgerton? If he were to leave right away, he could probably get to Granite Hill on horseback some time tomorrow. That is, if he felt up to a rigorous ride after his recent blow to the head…

Curry started writing.

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The members of Mason's gang, with the exception of one, met up in front of the Silver Spur Saloon.

"No sign of Heyes and we've been in ever saloon twice," announced Skeet.

"What do we do now?" asked Jude.

"We wait for Walt," answered the gang leader. "I sent him to bribe the telegrapher, see if Curry sends any messages out that might give away where Heyes really is."

Just then, Walt turned a corner and strode up to the small group, calling out, "Mason! I got news!"

"Not out here," Mason answered, glancing around. He jerked his head toward the saloon and six pairs of boots clattered up the wooden steps, spurs jangling.

When they were seated around a round, scarred-up wooden table in a corner, each with a mug of beer in front of him, Blake turned to the tall, fair-haired outlaw to his left.

"Alright, Walt, spill."

"There was TWO telegrams, one out and one in! Which one do ya want first?"

"Out," commanded Mason.

Walt pulled a crinkled piece of paper from his pocket, set in on the table, and began to carefully smooth it out with his hands. His leader plucked it impatiently from his grasp and read it, scowling.

"This ain't good," he growled, letting the message fall from his hand onto the table.

"What?" "What?" The others asked, grabbing for the paper.

Skeet reached it first and he now read it aloud, haltingly, "To Shecky Sheckerson, Bridgerton, Colorado. Stagecoach bandits in Granite Hill. Come identify. T. Jones."

"Shecky! Wasn't that the name of the stagecoach driver?" asked Mick.

"Uh-huh," said Mason. "How long would it take him to get here from Bridgerton?"

"Bridgerton's a half day's ride the other direction from Stillwater," answered Skeet. "Even on a fast horse it'd take from sun-up 'til sundown ta go the whole way. Let's see… if he left now, he could might get to Stillwater afore dark, then come the rest of the way and be here by suppertime tomorrow. Depends on how motivated he is."

"Oh, I'd say he's pretty durned motivated! He was real mad when we robbed him," Walt said, chuckling. "Not to mention when I stove his head in!"

"If he shows up here, we're all goin' ta jail," warned Mick.

"Well, then, we're just gonna haveta make sure he don't show up here," said Mason. "Mick and Skeet. Ride toward Bridgerton and cut 'im off."

"What about the in?" asked Walt.

"Gimme that," snapped Mason, grabbing the paper before Walt could even begin to try smoothing it out.

"Huh. Heyes says he changed his plans. Wants Kid to meet 'im in Lead Gulch."

"No wonder we couldn't find him here!" exclaimed Skeet.

Five pairs of eyes stared at Skeet as if they couldn't believe he would say something so obvious. The taciturn Rico muttered something in Spanish under his breath that didn't sound very complimentary.

"Lead Gulch? Ain't that a ghost town?" asked Mick.

"You're damn right it is!" answered Mason. He smiled maliciously. "Just about two hours south o' here. This is workin' out better than I thought! He won't be expectin' nobody to show up in the middle of that godforsaken place. Walt, Jude, Rico. You're gonna go there and ambush 'im."

"What are you gonna do, Mason?" asked Skeet

"I'm gonna set right here and keep an eye on our prisoner," answered Mason, taking a gulp of his beer. "When you get back, you'll find me at the hotel. Y'all have your orders. Don't none of you disappoint me now."


	17. Chap17 - A Foolproof Hannibal Heyes Plan

It was late afternoon when Hannibal Heyes rode into the deserted main street of Lead Gulch, a once-thriving boom town that died a swift and unequivocal death after the lead mine it relied upon was tapped out. He looked around at the empty buildings, paint now faded and peeling, weeds growing up through the cracks in the boardwalk, a loose shutter on rusty hinges somewhere banging rhythmically in the wind. It always fascinated him how quickly Nature could reclaim her territory when Man stopped fighting back. He entered the abandoned hotel and climbed the stairs. Once on the top floor, he poked his head into each room. Not surprisingly, most of them were empty, but there were a few miscellaneous pieces of furniture and various forgotten items, all buried by a thick coating of dust. He gathered up what he needed, then made his way about town, collecting random pieces of rope, wooden boards, etc. - the flotsam and jetsam left behind by the people that once called Lead Gulch home. Entering the mercantile, he was gratified to see the mostly bare shelves still held a modest supply of canned goods, albeit covered with a layer of wind-blown dust. Once he'd assembled his materials, Heyes got to work. After about an hour of industrious labor, he returned to the hotel and this time ascended all the way up to the flat roof, accessing it through a trapdoor at the top of a set of stairs behind the last door in the long corridor of the highest floor of the saloon.

Heyes dragged a couple of crates near the building's false front, an architectural ploy the builders of the saloon had used to make it appear taller and more majestic than it actually was. It was highest in the center, then stepped symmetrically on each side, the lower portions reaching Heyes's waist when he stood. He used one crate as a seat and the other for a table, from which he calmly ate the rest of the provisions he'd brought along from Bridgerton, frequently glancing over the building's facade. From this height he couldn't miss anyone entering the town from any direction.

About sunset, a puff of dust on the horizon caught Heyes' attention. He picked up his field glasses and peered through them. Riders. Three of them riding abreast, approaching from the north, on the road from Granite Hill. As they drew closer and he could see them more clearly, he made up names in his head to keep track of them. Blondie sat tall in the saddle. He was clean-shaven and youthful-looking. His hat hung down his back by the stampede strings so that the rays of the setting sun glinted off his shoulder length, wavy blonde hair – hence the name. "Moose" was even taller than Blondie and twice as wide. He was a mountain of a man, almost as big as William Jackson, Heyes's blacksmith poker buddy from Bridgerton, but about six times as ornery-looking.

"Damnit," said Heyes aloud when he trained his glass on the third rider. He didn't need a nickname for this one. Damn if it wasn't Hank's nephew Jude! He must've been the one to recognize the Kid. And no doubt he'd remember Heyes, too, once he got a good look at him.

"Just have to make sure he doesn't," Heyes said to himself. As he observed the trio, they reined in their horses and conferred. Moose, the eldest and apparently the senior member of the group, seemed to be directing the two younger men, pointing as he spoke. From Heyes's vantage point, it was easy to see what the big man was planning. He would ride in on the main thoroughfare while Blondie would circle around and come in from the west. Jude would enter the town from the east. The south side of Lead Gulch backed up to the rocky bluffs where the mine was located – to which the cunning former outlaw leader had already laid a very blatant false trail. He'd left his horse tied up there, too, just outside the boarded-up entrance to the abandoned lead mine. Well, it had been boarded up. Heyes had removed enough boards that a full-grown man could step inside. Of course, Moose would have to duck...

Moose sat his horse in the middle of the road waiting as the other two men rode off in opposite directions. Looked like he was going to give the other two a head start. Heyes, familiar with all three routes and their entry points, knew that the man taking the western approach would arrive soonest.

"Okay, Blondie, you'll be my first dance," he said, pocketing the field glasses. He crept down the steps and ghosted through the streets to take his place behind a long-empty horse trough and took hold of the edge of a piece of string stretching across the road. Just when the outlaw's horse was even with the trough, Heyes yanked on the string. A cluster of empty cans and glass bottles tied to the other end juddered violently across the road like a living machine, causing a deafening clatter that seemed all the louder for occurring in the midst of such desolate silence. Shafts of sunlight reflected off the glass and several strips of spangled fabric – the remainder of a long-gone saloon girl's costume that Heyes had tied here and there onto the noisy contraption. Blondie's horse, in a panic, reared on both hind legs, sending his rider crashing to the ground, then bolted down the deserted street, desperate to get away from the terrifying thing.

"Howdy," said Hannibal Heyes pleasantly, as he stepped out from behind the trough with his Schofield in hand to stand towering over the man sprawled in the dust beneath him.

"Go ahead and sit up, nice and easy-like. I'm gonna have to ask you to hand over your gun – nice and steady. That's right. Okay, now I need you to remove your bandana and tie it around your mouth. Nice and tight. Say, you've done this before, haven't you? Good man. And if you could please just turn around and place your hands behind your back. Now hold real still, because I have to hold my gun in my left hand while I tie you up. Never could learn how to tie properly with my left hand. But I can do it real good and tight with the right. It's just that I'm not so steady with the left, so if you make any sudden moves, I might accidentally pull the trigger."

As he said all this, he was swiftly tying the still-stunned Walt's wrists together with both hands, having silently holstered his pistol. "Now if you don't mind waiting here, I have a date with your friend." Heyes grinned devilishly, tipped his hat, and disappeared from sight.

Heyes reached the livery stable on the east side of town in only a few minutes. He swiftly climbed the rickety ladder to the loft where he'd rigged his next booby trap. He had tied the heavy wooden piano stool from the saloon to the pulley rope that was once used to hoist hay bales up into the second story loft. He untied the other end and held tightly against the weight as he watched for Jude approaching the outskirts of town. The kid had his gun drawn and his head was swiveling around from side to side. He looked nervous. As well you should be, thought Heyes. And to think I tried to save you from a life of crime, he tsked to himself. Ah well, Karma is a bitch, innit?

He waited until the exact right moment, then let go of the rope. Jude never knew what hit him, but his horse was none too pleased when the small piece of furniture dropped from the sky. The rider hit the dirt as the horse rocketed away. Jude seemed to be out cold, but Heyes wasn't taking any chances. He skinned down the ladder, straddling it so his feet slid down the outside rails, not bothering to use the rungs, and crept stealthily to the prone figure. Kicking the gun away from the boy's outstretched hand, Heyes said, "Don't bother to get up," and knelt down with his knee on Jude's back. The only response was a groan. Heyes quickly pulled the boys' hands behind his back and tied them tightly. He used Jude's bandana for a gag and his own as a blindfold, just to be on the safe side. Then he dragged the trussed-up figure by the ankles into the livery stable. Once inside, he pulled him into an empty stall and tied his ankles together as well.

Heyes heard hoofbeats approaching. It was 'Moose,' entering Lead Gulch via the main road. Heyes cut through the alley and went into the back door of the saloon. He crossed the floor and peered through a crack in the closed shutter as the big outlaw rode by. Perfect! Moose was following Heyes' tracks straight through the town and toward the old mine.

The last sliver of sun was just disappearing as Heyes reached his destination. There were now two horses tied up at the entrance to the boarded-up shaft, his own chestnut and the large bay ridden by the outlaw he'd been calling Moose. Moose himself had entered the man-sized opening in the boards.

"Come on, Heyes, I know you're in here," called the big man from somewhere inside the mineshaft.

I wouldn't be so sure about that, thought Heyes to himself, smirking.

"There's no way out," shouted Moose, his voice much fainter, indicating he had traveled a fair distance down the shaft, no doubt following the light of the lantern Heyes had left burning deep inside, next to a neatly folded horse blanket, three filled canteens, a neat stack of canned goods, and a rusty can-opener

"Ya got that right," Heyes chuckled to himself. He picked up a board from the stack of old wood next to the partially open mineshaft and the hammer and nails he'd brought along with him from Bridgerton and got to work.

"Hey! Who's out there? Walt, is that you? Jude?"

"Guess again," called Heyes merrily, continuing to hammer more and more nails into the boards that occluded the entrance to the mineshaft.

"Hannibal Heyes!" cried the big man, now quite close to the opening, which had swiftly shrunk to a diameter much too small to enable his passage.

"Wrong again," said Heyes. "Name's Joshua Smith. What's yours?"

"I'll shoot through this barricade!" hollered the enraged man from the other side of the boards.

"Not a smart idea," advised Heyes affably. "Could ricochet and shoot yourself."

"I'll tear it down with my bare hands and then I'll tear your head off of your scrawny little neck!" threatened the man, howling with rage.

"Well, you will be able to get out of there eventually, I expect," he of the scrawny little neck replied, unruffled. "But if you just wait calmly, I'll be happy to let you out - as soon as I get my partner back. I've left some food and water for you in there. Enough for a coupla days."

"My partners will get me out," insisted the captive outlaw stubbornly.

"I don't advise you to hold your breath waitin' for that to happen," called Heyes, before turning and strolling back into town, whistling a jaunty tune.

He went straight to where he'd left Walt. His loyal horse had recovered from his panic and returned to his master's side. He was loitering next to the hapless young man, who remained lying in the road, tied up quite securely.

"How ya doin', Walt? Seems we weren't properly introduced before. My name is Joshua Smith. I've got a little proposition for you. I'm going to remove your gag. You can go ahead and holler if you want, but your friends won't be able to help you. I've already got Jude and – what's the big fellow's name?" he asked politely as he untied the bandana.

"Mick," replied the blonde outlaw.

"Ahh, I thought he looked a bit Irish," commented Heyes. "So, anyway. Mick and Jude can't help you. But you can help them. You see, I'm going to let you go. But not them."

"You wanna trade."

"Very astute. So you're the brains of this outfit. Shoulda put you in charge instead of Mick, huh?" Heyes flattered him. "Good, you already know what I want: My partner. You ride back to Granite Bluff and tell your boss I want you to send Jones back here – unharmed. He rides into town, ALONE, and I release your pals. It's that simple. Whaddaya say?"

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Sheriff Braxton reached through the bars and gently touched the sleeping prisoner on the shoulder. The man accused of being Kid Curry sat up with a jolt.

"Ya get an answer?" he asked.

"Sorry son. Not yet. But there's someone here wants to see ya."

Braxton stepped aside to reveal the man standing behind him. It was the elderly Mr. Trent with whom he had shared the stage from Red Hill. Trent smiled at the young man, who ran his fingers through his messy curls and rose from his cot.

"Mr. Trent."

"Mr. Jones. How are you holding up?"

"Oh, I'm just fine sir. Thank you for coming."

"My wife sent you something," he said, offering the prisoner a basket of cookies, still warm from the oven. "And Timmy made you this." He held out a piece of paper with a crayon drawing of a man with yellow curly hair and a big toothy grin riding on top of what must have been meant to be a stagecoach.

"Thank you, sir," Curry said, reaching through the bars and taking the basket and picture. "Please give Mrs. Trent and little Timmy my gratitude."

"Now son, I may be an old codger, but in my younger days I was a lawyer, and that might count for something. I just gave my statement to Sheriff Braxton out there. I told him what a fine young man you are. How you risked your neck to stop that runaway team. And the way you looked after Miss Grady and kept that rascal Nielson away from her. Yes, I noticed that. And how polite and mannerly you are. I've met my share of outlaws in my practice, and I cannot believe for a minute that you could be Kid Curry."

"Thank you, sir."

"Mrs. Batenhorst and her son made statements as well – they wrote them down and I delivered them. Mrs. B. didn't feel it "appropriate" for them to come in here. Wouldn't be ladylike," he added, chuckling. "Which reminds me, how did our lovely little schoolteacher make out? Did you deliver Miss Grady safely to her new post?"

Kid looked abashed. "I'm sorry to say I did not, sir. I was taken prisoner before I could finish the job. But I'm confident that I left her in good hands."

"You did everything you could have, my boy. Now you just have to have faith."

"Huh," Kid chuckled. "You sound like my partner."

"Then he must be a very wise man," replied the old gentleman.

"Oh, he is," answered Curry. "At least that's what he's always telling me."


	18. Chapter 18 - Another Fly in the Ointment

"Mick and them catch Heyes?" asked Skeet, from his seat by the window.

They were in a hotel room dominated by two lumpy beds with ornate brass headboards. Blake Mason lounged on one, propped up against several pillows, legs stretched out, hands folded behind his head. Rico sat on a chair in the corner, sharpening a wicked-looking knife.

"There's been…uh, complications," snarled Mason. "But you haven't told me why you two are back yet."

"We toldja, Blake. He wanted to surprise ya."

"Who?"

"You'll see in a minute."

As if on cue, there was a sharp rap on the door. Blake pulled his gun warily as Skeet bounded to the door and flung it open. "Surprise!" he chortled.

There in the doorway, a bottle of whiskey clutched in each hand, stood a tall man with dark hair and even darker eyes wreathed in fine lines. From his low-slung holster protruded a pearl-handled Colt.

"As I live and breathe. Frank Reed, you old son of a bitch! I heard you was dead!" Mason greeted him, bounding up from the bed.

"Blake Mason, I heard the same thing about you."

The old friends embraced in a bear hug. When they released their grip on one another, Reed presented Mason with one of the liquor bottles. Skeet was practically dancing with glee. The taciturn Rico looked up from his task and smiled, revealing one gleaming gold tooth.

"Quit actin' a fool and shut the door, Skeet," commanded Mason. As Skeet complied, Mason turned to the newest arrival, "What the hell are you doin' here and how did Skeet and Rico know you were comin'?"

Mason settled back on his bed and Reed flopped down on the other. They clinked bottles and each took a healthy swig.

"I met your boys on the road into town this mornin'," Reed said. "They told me they'd been waitin' all night for a fella name of Sheckerson. Notcher run-of-the-mill ordinary, everyday name, so's I figgered it must be the same Sheckerson what I happened to know is feelin' a mite poorly, laid up at the Stillwater Way Station with a sore head. So they told me how he got such a sore head. Where is Walt, anyways?" he asked, looking around.

"Never mind him for now. How do ya know Sheckerson?' asked Mason, taking another pull from his bottle.

"I don't. But I met up with another fella on the road earlier today. A real chatty fella, turns out. He was comin' from Bridgerton, where I had a most unpleasant experience recently. So you might say I was real interested."

"Keep talkin'."

"Bout a week ago, I was in a nice friendly poker game. And I was winnin', too. Thanks to my special lady," he added, with an ugly laugh.

"Oh, you're still pulling that old trick? Frank, ya gotta find a new scam before ya get yer head blowed clean off," scolded Blake. "Somebody caught ya, right?"

"Yeah, this little pipsqueak – real slick poker player, and a regular little smartass, too. I coulda handled him, but his partner turned out to be a stone cold shootist. Fastest draw I ever seen in my life."

"Ya mean he beat _you_?" asked Skeet from his place back at the window, dumbfounded. Rico and Blake also looked surprised at this news.

"Yeah, he beat me," admitted Reed angrily. "Little baby-faced panty-waste! Then the sheriff and his deputy rousted me outta town. I was plumb ticked off."

"That's understandable. What didja do?" asked his friend.

"I left," he shrugged. "I went up to that old trapper's cabin – you know, the one we wintered in three years ago. Went on a bender."

Blake nodded at his old friend sympathetically and took a hit from his bottle.

"But I run out of supplies. So I decided to move on, thinkin' maybe I'd go to Denver next. But comin' along the road I met up with a guy who'd been in Bridgerton for the big poker game. The game I'd been hopin' ta get in on. Man, that guy could talk yer ears off. But I learned a thing or two."

"Go on."

"Including that you and your boys robbed the Bridgerton stagecoach with the town's most important muckety-muck on board AND their new lady schoolteacher, AND that a**hole that outdrew me. He also happened to mention that one of the outlaws beaned the driver, Shecky or Shucky Something, what was it again?"

"Sheckerson."

"Whatever. Beaned him so good he was laid up at Stillwater and a different fella was drivin' stage for him."

"That's ma boy," bragged Mason smugly.

"And that's how me and Rico knew we didn't have to wait around for him no more," added Skeet.

"Yeah, well, what about the telegram, genius?" demanded Mason. " _Somebody_ from that stage is gonna come when they read that!"

"Naw," answered Reed. "Fella I met said the whole damn town was closed down yesterday on accounta the big celebration to welcome the new teacher. Said it was a real fine shindig - free food, free booze, dancin' and everything. Entire population of Bridgerton was there. And like I said, every business shuttered up. So that means nobody was in that telegraph office to get that message!"

After much jubilant laughter all around, Reed continued, "And guess what else he said? That teacher told everyone the outlaws what robbed the stage claimed they was "Blake Mason and his Wild Mountain Boys." You're still usin' that stupid name?"

Blake shrugged. "Skeet likes it," he explained, almost apologetically. "Wait a minute. Back up. What was the name of the gunnie? The one that outdrew ya?"

"Jones. Thaddeus Jones. The same guy you supposedly... kidnapped…?" he let the question hang in the air, looking around the room as if Thaddeus Jones might be seated in a previously overlooked corner.

Blake was jubilant. "That proves he's Kid Curry!" he exclaimed.

"Kid Curry? That guy didn't say nothin' about Kid Curry," retorted Reed.

"Yeah, Jude recognized him. He spent some time in Devil's Hole a few years back," put in Skeet.

"Well, now I don't feel so bad. Gettin' outdrawn by Kid Curry ain't nothin' to be ashamed of," Reed said thoughtfully.

"Damn straight," agreed Mason. "Funny, he weren't wearin' his gun when we met up with him. Instead he pretended to be the schoolteacher's farm boy kid brother. He was pretty convincing, too. We let 'im go, then thought better of it and went back and fetched him here."

A knock sounded on the door. This time Rico answered it, brandishing his knife. When he opened it, there was Walt, carrying an armload of supplies and looking a bit rough around the edges.

The blonde outlaw burst into the room carrying several cloth bags and slammed the door shut behind him. "Reed! Where'd you come from?" he asked, as soon as he saw the big man on the bed.

"Bridgerton, sorta," answered Reed, sniggering. He was starting to slur his words, having worked his way through the better part of his bottle.

"Skeet, Rico. Ya stop Sheckerson?" asked Walt.

"Didn't have to," replied Skeet. Reed told us he ain't comin' on account of how you bashed him so good on the head. Where's Jude and Mick?"

Walt looked questioningly at his leader. Blake scowled and answered for him, "Walt got back in the middle of the night. I sent 'im out to get us some grub. The others are still in Lead Gulch. Heyes's got 'em. He wants ta trade."

"You mean Joshua Smith," Walt said, with an air of someone who had been futilely arguing this point. He set his bags down on the bureau and turned to Skeet and Rico to explain, "He said he ain't Hannibal Heyes. And his partner ain't Kid Curry. And he'll let Mick and Jude go when Jones rides into Lead Gulch – alone. He was very clear about the alone part."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Reed. "Smith? As in Joshua Smith?"

"What, you know him?" asked Walt.

"He was the little pipsqueak hangin' out with the fella you say is Kid Curry – the one who caught me cheatin'."

"See. That proves he's Hannibal Heyes," Mason said. "They're Curry and Heyes, plain as the nose on your face!"

"I ain't so sure," mused Reed thoughtfully. "This guy did not seem to me like he could be the leader of the Devil's Hole Gang. I mean, he was skinny. And, I don't know... clean. And polite. Talked a little fancy, too, like a banker or somethin'. And he was playin' cards and rubbin' elbows with all the fine, upstandin' citizens of Bridgerton. AND, I heard from my chatterbox friend that he won the big poker game last Saturday night. Walked away with twelve THOUSAND dollars!"

"Hannibal Heyes is known to be an unbeatable poker player," argued Mason.

"But wait'll you hear this! My travelin' companion said Smith turned around and donated a thousand bucks to the school! Now, I ask you, would Hannibal Heyes do something like that?"

Walt spoke up, "Well, all's I know is he caught all three of us before we even knew what was goin' on. And if we want to get Mick and Jude back, we need to give him Jones."

"Ya mean Curry," spat Mason.

"I don't know, this guy Smith was pretty convincing," Walt ventured.

Mason scoffed. "Hannibal Heyes is also known to have a silver tongue. Ya wouldn't be the first to fall for his line of B.S." He paused, thinking, then said, "The only way the sheriff'd let 'im go is if we tell 'im we made a mistake. And then, adios, ten grand…"

Skeet, Walt, and Rico all bristled.

"You mean we will not save our _compadres_?" demanded Rico angrily, breaking his silence.

"I ain't sayin' that," snapped Blake. "There's gotta be a way to get our boys back AND the ten grand."

"What about the reward for Heyes? If he is Heyes," asked Reed.

"Jude can identify Heyes," offered Skeet. "He says he met 'em both when he was in the Hole."

"Heyes has GOT Jude," scoffed Mason. He was silent for some few moments, thinking. Finally he said, "Naw, we can't be 100% sure it's him. We don't even know _for sure_ Jones is Curry. And Sheriff says we don't get the reward 'til someone from Wyoming comes to verify his identity. And that could take a week or more. Meanwhile, more telegrams'll get sent. Eventually, _somebody_ from that stage is gonna find out we're here and wanna get some justice."

"But Skeet said this kid Jude was in Devil's Hole," said Reed.

"Yeah, for about a minute. Five years ago. When he wasn't even shavin' yet."

"Ya know, it's common knowledge Heyes ain't never killed nobody. He's just bluffin' about yer boys," Reed speculated.

"If he IS Heyes. How do we know Joshua Smith ain't never killed nobody? Hell, even Heyes might kill if something happens to his partner…" said Walt. "He did seem to be very concerned about his partner."

There was another long pause. Mason drained the last of his bottle. Then he sat up straight in the bed and asked, "How much did you say Joshua Smith won in that poker game, Frank?"

"Twelve grand," replied Reed. "But he gave away some of it. Probably spent some too."

A cunning grin spread slowly across Blake Mason's handsome face. "I figured out what we're gonna do. Walt, better get a good night's sleep tonight. You're goin' back to Lead Gulch tomorrow mornin' to present Hannibal Heyes or Joshua Smith or whoever the hell he is with our counter-offer."


	19. Chapter 19 - The Counter-Offer

Heyes was back at his perch on the roof of the abandoned saloon, looking out at the road from Granite Bluff into the ghots town of Lead Gulch through his field glasses. A lone rider was approaching. "Kid," he said aloud, taking in the tall physique, a glimmer of blonde hair. But he had spoken too soon. When the horseman got a little closer, it was obvious that the rider wasn't his partner at all, but the blonde-haired gang member, Walt. Heyes cursed under his breath. What went wrong, he thought in consternation? Hadn't his plan been fool-proof?

Walt rode straight into town on the main road. Heyes stayed where he was until the rider was directly beneath him. He stood and called out, "Walt! Up here."

Walt looked up - directly into the barrel of a rifle. He threw both hands up in the air and shouted, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

"Where's my partner?" yelled Heyes without preamble.

"It's too late," called Walt to the man on the roof.

"What?" asked Heyes, his voice deadly. "What did you just say?" He slid the rifle bolt back menacingly.

"Wait! That's not what I meant! He's okay. I mean, he's still in jail, but he's… "Walt's voice trailed off. He looked up at Heyes helplessly. "Can you…um, can you come down here so we can talk without shouting?" he pleaded.

"No," answered Heyes flatly. He paused. "But you can come up here. Leave your gun down there. In the street."

Walt slowly pulled his pistol from his holster and tossed it onto the road. Then he dismounted, tied his horse's reins to the nearest rail, and entered the saloon. A few minutes later, his raised hands emerged through the roof trapdoor, followed by the rest of him, a scared look on his face.

"Sit down," commanded Heyes, gesturing to the nearby upended crate. Walt sat.

Heyes' voice sounded dangerous as he demanded, "What do you have to say about my partner? And put your hands down."

"Listen, Mr. Smith. If it was up to me, your partner would be here instead of me, ya gotta believe that. But Mason says that the sheriff won't release him unless we go in there and say we lied."

"So go in there and say you lied."

"But since Jude is the one who knows what Kid Curry looks like, Jude is the one that has to go in and say he lied. But you've got Jude."

Heyes cursed again. He stood up, paced back and forth, then returned to his perch on the crate. "I'll let Jude go with you now, but I'm keeping Mick," he conceded.

"Only…only, there's a friend of Mason just showed up, a guy named Frank Reed."

"Reed? What's Reed got to do with it?" Heyes asked, recognizing the name.

"Well, ya see, Reed says he knows your partner is Kid Curry, too. He said he could tell the sheriff about seein' his fast draw."

"That doesn't prove anything. And I'll still have Mick."

"Um, well, um, the thing is…" Walt trailed off, not completing the sentence.

"Out with it, man."

Walt swallowed, not taking his eyes from the rifle, then said in a rush, "Mason says he don't care about Mick. He says go ahead and kill the big dumb Irish prick. His words."

If looks could kill, Walt would not have survived the malevolent gaze of Joshua Smith. Walt was beginning to think he was Hannibal Heyes after all. Skinny or not, this guy was scary.

"Then why are you here?" Heyes asked harshly.

Walt swallowed before speaking, then began, "Mason has an offer. See, all we really want is the reward money. So if you give us ten thousand dollars and let Jude go, him and Mason will go to the sheriff and say they made a mistake. And when your partner gets here, then you let Mick go."

"I thought you said Mason don't care about Mick! How do I know he's not gonna welch? What's to stop him from keeping the ten thousand and never saying a word to the sheriff?! Does he think I'm stupid?!" Heyes was shouting now, in anger and exasperation.

"I'll stay in Jude's place. And he wouldn't leave me behind," insisted Walt.

"How do you know that? He was quick enough to leave Mick twisting in the wind!"

"I'm his…I'm his son. I know I don't look like him. My ma was fair. So they tell me. Don't really remember her much."

After that unexpected revelation, Heyes was silent for several minutes. Finally, he asked, "What if I ain't got ten thousand dollars?"

"We know you do. We know you won it at the poker game. In Bridgerton."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Twenty minutes later, Walt was sitting inside the dark abandoned lead mine alongside Mick. Heyes had held a gun on him while he'd directed the young outlaw to pry off a small section of board and squeeze himself through it. Then Heyes had nailed the board back on and hammered in several additional nails, just for good measure. As Heyes retreated from the shaft, he could hear Mick's bluster and Walt's explanation of the change in events to the older man. Heyes was livid at his reversal of fortune. But try as he might, he could not think of another way out.

Before bedding down for the previous night, he had untied Jude's legs and padlocked him in the stall at the livery stable. He had had to keep his hands tied behind his back, lest he remove the blindfold. But knowing from personal experience how painful it is to be tied up for a lengthy amount of time, Heyes had mercifully unbound his young prisoner's hands for a while. He had also given the boy some water, hardtack, and a cold can of beans before retying him. Of course, it was real tempting to let him just suffer. After all, it was this kid's fault his partner had been captured. As he fetched the boy's horse and saddled it, he mentally cursed Hank for bringing his nephew to Devil's Hole to begin with. Then he bitterly cursed Jude.

"I try to save you from a life of crime and this is the thanks I get," he muttered under his breath. When he unlocked the stall door and swung it open, he found the boy sitting forlornly in the musty straw. He could see from the tracks on his dirty face that the kid had been crying, but he hardened his heart. This stupid, ungrateful idiot was the cause of all his problems right now, he reminded himself.

"Get up," he said harshly. "Appears you're the Chosen One today." Heyes led him to his horse and helped him none too gently onto its back.

"Alright, kid, listen. I've got Mick and Walt. You've got ten thousand dollars in your saddlebags. I'm gonna lead your horse to the edge of town. Then I'm gonna untie your hands and slap his rump so hard he won't slow down for at least a mile. So ya better hang on tight. After that, you can go ahead and take off the blindfold. When you get back to Granite Bluff, you and your boss are gonna march straight into that sheriff's office and tell him you either lied or made a mistake about my partner. And if that don't happen, then I swear to God, Mick and Walt will die in that mine shaft. And I will personally hunt you down and kill you myself if it's the last thing I ever do. And if you decide to get greedy and keep the money for yourself and go someplace other than Granite Bluff with it, then not only do you have Mick and Walt's deaths on your head, you'll have me AND Blake Mason hunting you down. Ya got that?"

Jude nodded mutely, his eyes wide and fearful.


	20. Chap 20 - An Untruth Will Set You Free

Kid Curry sat on his cot finishing up his breakfast when the sheriff stepped from his office into the jail area with a big smile on his face.

"Good news, Jones," Braxton said smiling.

"Shecky answered my telegram?" Curry asked hopefully, sitting up straight.

"Better'n that. Your accusers were just here. Appears they made a mistake. Seems they don't believe you're Kid Curry after all."

"Is that a fact?" asked Kid happily, a big grin on his face. Thank you, Heyes, you've done it again, he thought.

"So you're free to go."

Braxton took the ring of keys from his belt, searched for the correct one, and inserted it into the lock on Kid's cell.

"Thank you, sir!" said Curry politely, rising to his feet. He wanted nothing more that to dash out of the cell and keep running, but played it cool instead.

Sheriff Braxton held the cell door open for his prisoner. Curry grabbed his hat and stepped out, a free man. He and the sheriff walked back to the office area in the front of the building.

"They said ta give ya this." Braxton picked up a familiar gunbelt from his desk and handed it to the Kid.

It was like seeing an old friend. Curry unrolled his beloved rig and immediately buckled it around his hips, then leaned over to tie the leather thong around his thigh. Ahh, finally he was no longer nekked! he thought to himself with satisfaction. Straightening up, he pulled his Colt – deliberately slowly – from the holster and examined at it, cracked it open, then inspected the chamber. His frowning face clearly showed his disapproval.

"What's wrong?" asked Braxton, seeing his reaction. "Not your gun?"

"Naw, it's mine alright, but someone's been usin' it," Curry answered in disgust. "And they ain't cleaned it, either."

The lawman chuckled. "Be careful, son. You showin' that much love to your gun might make a fella suspect you was Kid Curry after all."

Curry looked up from his weapon sharply, but Braxton had turned away to retrieve several more items from his desk. "Got a couple more things for ya. Here's yer saddlebags and here's a poke with food sent over by Mrs. Batenhorst and another one sent by Mrs. Trent. Seems both those ladies have a soft spot for ya."

"Mrs. Batenhorst cooks?" Kid asked incredulously as he slung the saddlebags over one shoulder and took both sacks thankfully.

Braxton laughed. "Oh no, she had her cook fix it up for ya, but I'm sure she told her exactly what to do. Them fellas what brought you in said yer horse is tied up right out in front. They said yer partner was waitin' for ya in Lead Gulch," he added.

Kid grinned. Leave it to Heyes. He could guess what his partner had done – brokered a trade: himself for one or more of the gang members he would be holding in Lead Gulch.

"Thanks for everything, Sheriff," Curry said, reaching out to shake Braxton's hand.

"I just have one question," the sheriff said as they released their grip.

"Yes sir."

"I happen to know Harold Brock was on that stage when it got robbed, too. Why didn't ya telegraph him, 'specially when old Shecky didn't answer?"

"Well, sir…I got the impression Bridger didn't exactly take a shine to me," Curry prevaricated.

Sheriff Braxton looked at the young man without speaking for a long moment as if he were thinking about something. Then he grinned and said, "Well, I guess yer lucky I _did_ take a shine to ya, Jones, cuz any other lawman'd wait 'til the authorities from Wyoming showed up, which should be in a day or two. They're gonna be mighty disappointed. Now you go on, git. And I suggest you don't show yer face in Granite Bluff."

Curry could take a hint. "Thank you, sir," he repeated, then turned and strode out to the door. Sure enough, there was his faithful mare, saddled up and raring to go. She swished her tail and tweaked one ear, looking at him with an expression that seemed to say, Well, it's about time you showed up.

As he tied the bags of food behind the cantle of his saddle, Braxton's voice followed him into the street, saying, "…at least not until you and yer partner get things, shall we say, 'squared away' with a certain prominent person in the Territory of Wyoming...?"

Curry's head spun around to look at Braxton, but the sheriff had already disappeared into his office. Shrugging, he untied his horse, hopped on her back, and headed out of town.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

This time when Heyes saw the approaching rider, he didn't even have to use the glass to know it was Kid. How could he have ever mistaken Walt for his partner, even for an instant, he thought. Just the way Kid sat his horse, he knew it was him.

Curry pulled up outside of town, just out of rifle range, warily assessing the lay of the land. Heyes could see him scanning the streets, the windows, the rooftops. When he looked his way, Heyes stood up and waved nonchalantly. Kid whooped and urged his horse into a trot. Heyes made for the trap door and descended the stairs rapidly. He was standing on the steps of the saloon, leaning against a pillar, when Kid reined up in front of it.

"What took you so long?" Heyes asked, smiling broadly.

"Had ta wait for my genius partner to devise another one of his brilliant plans to get me outta jail."

"Yeah, about that…" began Heyes. But the Kid interrupted him, asking,

"So I take it you have some of them "Wild Mountain Boys" trussed up somewhere?"

"In the mine. We better go let 'em out. They're probably mad as hell by now," Heyes said, bounding down the saloon's somewhat dilapidated steps.

Kid kicked one foot out of the stirrup, reached down to grasp his partner's arm, and hauled him up behind him.

"Good to have you back, Kid," said Heyes.

"Good to be back, Heyes," agreed Curry.

When they reached the boarded up mine shaft, it took the two men some concerted effort to make an opening large enough for Mick and Walt to squeeze through. Even though there were two men prying off the boards now, they only had the one hammer between them, and Heyes had put in a LOT of nails.

"Joshua, your carpentry skills are improving," Curry praised, admiring the generous complement of nails peppering the board he had just wrested free.

"Why thank you, Thaddeus. And I only hit my thumb once," Heyes boasted proudly.

When at last Mick and Walt were standing in front of the pile of old boards, dirty and rumpled, grumpily blinking in the bright sunlight, Heyes addressed them congenially, "Howdy boys, have a nice time?"

A guttural snarl erupted from Mick's throat as he made a move as if to clobber the smiling, dimpled man acting as if he were welcoming him home from a pleasant vacation.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came a familiar voice behind him. He turned his head to find himself looking straight down the barrel of one fully-loaded Colt .45 in the hands of none other than… Kid Curry.

Mick gulped, letting his meaty arms fall to his sides.

"Okay boys, now that we have your attention," said Heyes, "we left your horses and your weapons, along with some food and water, about a mile out of town on the road to Granite Bluff. I suggest you hurry, cuz we didn't tie 'em up too tight." He grinned mischievously at the final comment.

Mick scowled and said, "If it's as bad as the so-called food you left in the mine for us, then thanks, but no thanks."

"Well, that's gratitude for ya," replied Heyes, sounding wounded. Then his tone turned serious. "I bet that hardtack, jerky, and canned goods were a sight better than the food my partner's been eatin' the past couple days – in JAIL."

"And that reminds me," Curry growled, "which one of you was usin' my gun?"

Both Walt and Mick looked at each other with guilty expressions and began to stammer.

Heyes sighed, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "Better just leave before he shoots ya" he advised.

When the two robbers started running, both partners dissolved into laughter. Kid couldn't resist letting off two shots into the dirt near the outlaws' feet, which served to improve their speed significantly. He twirled his gun in an extra-elaborate backwards-then-forwards triple loop before sliding it into its holster.

"Come on, Kid, let's get outta here, too," said Heyes, slapping his partner on the back.

"Not 'til I clean my gun," insisted Curry stubbornly. He walked over to the tree where his horse was tethered next to Heyes's, the two animals getting reacquainted over some tender grass, and rummaged for the cleaning supplies in his saddlebags. He removed his gun oil, cloth, and cleaning tools and spread them out on one of the discarded boards.

"You're actually gonna do that right here, right now?" Heyes asked incredulously.

"Yeah, why not?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm pretty hungry... Hey, aren't you usually the one saying that?"

Kid returned to his horse and pulled the cloth bag from behind the saddle. "I ate a little on the ride here. And truth be told, the food was pretty good in that jail," he smirked. "Here, try one of these roast beef sandwiches from Mrs. Batenhorst. And Mrs. Trent's sugar cookies'll melt in your mouth." He tossed the bags to his partner.

Soon it was a picture of domestic tranquility: Kid Curry sat happily on a rock in front of the old mineshaft, the various pieces of his gun spread out on a splintered, nail-encrusted board. Hannibal Heyes was lounging in the grass, contentedly munching on a sandwich. The sky was blue, the sun was warm on their shoulders, and they were as free as the proverbial bird.

"So Heyes," asked Curry absently, "how'd you make out in that poker game?"

"Well, Kid, it's like this. I've got some good news and I've some got bad news…"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Later that night and many miles away, Blake Mason and his five Wild Mountain Boys, plus one Frank Reed, were sitting around a small campfire passing a bottle from mad to man, evidently celebrating.

"Here's to ten thousand dollars! We're rich!" chortled Skeet, before taking a slug from the bottle.

"Yeah, but now we know he really _was_ Kid Curry," grumbled Mick. "Otherwise, his partner would of just waited until the authorities from Wyoming showed up and said he wasn't the Kid."

"I told you he was Kid Curry," insisted Jude. "And that was sure enough Hannibal Heyes, too. He made sure I never saw his face, but it sure as hell sounded like his voice."

"We never would've caught him," scoffed Mason dismissively. "He had Walt and Mick and I wasn't willin' to risk 'em. And who knows how long 'til a witness to our stage hold up would of shown up in Granite Bluff and put the finger on us? Nope, it was too big of a gamble. We couldn't afford ta stay until them Wyoming boys showed up. We did the only thing we could have done. AND we got ten thousand to split between us! You know the old saying about birds and bushes."

"Huh?" asked Skeet blankly.

"Ten thousand dollars in yer hand beats twenty thousand in the bush!"

All of the gang members laughed raucously, except Skeet, whose face was a picture of befuddlement.


	21. Chapter 21 - On the Road Again

Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes lounged on a bench, waiting for the train to Denver. They both felt plumb worn out by the events of the last few days and had decided to go visit their good friend Clementine for a week or so to recover.

It suddenly occurred to the Kid that this was the same bench he had sat on while awaiting Amanda Grady's arrival. And when he'd first spotted her, she'd been right over there, he recalled, picturing her scurrying along behind the porter. He smiled to himself, remembering how she had tried to help him with the luggage. And then she had asked to sit on top with the driver…

"Penny for your thoughts," Heyes said, bringing the Kid back to the present time.

"Aw, I was just thinkin'," answered the Kid. " - and don't say what you always say!"

"Thinking about Amanda Grady?" asked his partner gently, yet knowingly, avoiding his usual snarky comments about the proper division of labor in their partnership.

Curry dodged the question, instead replying, "Bridgerton was a real nice town, wasn't it?"

"Sure was," agreed Heyes, thinking ruefully of having $12,000 in his pocket, at least for a little while.

"Bridger was kind of a jerk, but his town sure was nice," added Kid.

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts.

"Maybe someday we'll get back that way," mused the Kid after a bit.

"Maybe," agreed Heyes, noncommittally.

After another period of silence, Curry asked, "How much money we got, Heyes?"

"Kid, you know how much. The thousand bucks left from my poker winnings and the hundred bucks we got for the horses and saddles. That's it. Unless you have some."

Funny how $1100, much more than they'd had between them for months, seemed positively scanty to Heyes after having possessed ten times that amount so recently. Fortunately, his partner didn't share that feeling of loss, having never even known about the money until after it was spent - and he certainly did appreciate quite deeply what Heyes had spent it on.

"Don't believe so," answered the Kid, patting his vest pockets. "Wait! I feel a bill." But when he pulled it from his pocket, it turned out to be a folded piece of paper. "Never mind. It ain't money," he said, unfolding the paper curiously.

"What is it?" asked his partner, looking over Curry's shoulder to peer at the piece of paper. "That's a real pretty drawing of a columbine. Where'd ya get it, Kid?"

There was no answer.

~END~

Author's notes:

 _1 - The Illinois State Normal University was founded in 1857 for the purpose of training teachers. In those days, such schools were called "normal" because the students therein were learning the "norms" of pedagogy. In 1873, it was "the largest such institution in the country" and the "only public school in Illinois in which students, especially women, could obtain a free liberal arts education." The intent of the university was to train teachers for placement in Illinois schools, but who is to say that a few of those teachers might not have answered the siren song to teach in the growing communities of the West…? Today, more than 150 years later, ISU, as the university is now called, is recognized as "one of the top ten producers of teachers in the United States." One of the twin towns where ISU is located is now called Normal, Illinois (which reminds me, did you ever hear the one about the Normal woman who married the Oblong boy…? I guess to get that joke, you need to know there is also a town in Illinois called Oblong...)._

 _The second president of the University, Richard Evans, is famously quoted that the preparation of teachers is "the grandest of enterprises."_

 _Source: historyDOTillinoisstateDOTedu_

 _2 - The Rocky Mountain Columbine, with its delicate shades of pale blue-ish lavender and white, was named the state flower of Colorado in 1899 after winning the vote of Colorado's school children, perhaps including some of Miss Amanda Grady's pupils…_

 _Source: wwwDOTstatesymbolsusaDOTorg/symbol/colorado/state-flower/rocky-mountain-columbine_


End file.
